


Little Swan Lost

by ISeeFire



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Bilba is a ballet dancer, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Family, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Female Ori, Gen, Genderbending, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Modern Royalty, Romance, Romantic Comedy Elements, Romantic Drama Elements, Rule 63, Thilbo, You'll see!, bagginshield, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilba has grown up the unwanted granddaughter of the Thain of the Kingdom of Shire but, as she rarely visits the palace, the relationship holds little meaning to her. Instead she focuses on her second year of college, her ballet career and her slowly burgeoning romance with Bofur, a crew member with her ballet company. </p><p>The same day Bilba is set to preform on stage for the first time with her company, the kingdom of Shire is anticipating another event. That very evening will oversee the political, arranged marriage between Thorin Durin, Crown Prince of Erebor, and an unnamed Princess of Shire (so unnamed because Bilba's grandfather is a paranoid bastard). </p><p>Bilba doesn't care about any of this, she hasn't been invited and has no interest in other countries, politics or other such machinations. </p><p>Just before she's set to preform, however, Bilba suddenly finds herself dragged from the theater and taken to appear before her grandfather at the palace. </p><p>There she is informed she WILL be participating in the wedding after all. </p><p>As the bride. </p><p>Whether she likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic probably won't be updated as often as my other two. I'll mostly work on it between the time I send off a chapter of Homeward Bound to my beta, Drenagon, and the time she sends it back. I've been on a big modern, female Bilbo kick lately though and this idea popped in my head so I wanted to add to the genre! :D :D I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> This story is adapted from the Arranged Marriage drabbled in my Drabble story ideas fic post.

Bilba Baggins was in the midst of a truly beautiful dream. In it she was principal dancer in a production of "Swan Lake" and was right in the middle of the black swan pas de deux. She’d just finished her variation to thunderous applause and the danseur playing Siegfried, a mysterious man shrouded in shadow, stepped forward to join her for the coda.

They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies in rhythm with one another and the music. Realizing they’d arrived at her strongest part Bilba took a slow, deep breath and launched into her thirty-two fouettes en tournant.

Her execution was flawless and as she ended and launched into the final part of the dance the audience erupted once more. She threw her arm back, head held high in triumph both for the successful performance and as dictated by the play. Her lungs desperately sucked in oxygen and her legs had the barest tremble to them but she pushed it aside, holding the illusion of effortless grace.

A shriek rippled through the auditorium and Bilba blinked in surprise.

With a sharp click the applause, and the audience, vanished.

A second shriek tore through the air.

Bilba’s eyes snapped open, her body already reacting. Adrenaline surged through her veins and she rolled over, falling out of bed and hitting the ground with a thud. Scrambling to her feet, she snatched the can of mace off her bedside table and bolted for the door. A feeling of cold settled over her as images of her roommate being viciously attacked ran through her mind.

Light streamed through the window in the hallway outside her room allowing her to run full tilt. As she reached the entrance to the living room she tried to swing around the corner, hoping to have the element of surprise, only to have her socks slip on the wooden floor and send her sprawling instead. She hit the ground hard, pain barking up her elbow.

Immediately she rolled, coming up into a crouch on one knee, her arm up and ready to spray whatever attacker had dared threaten her friend Rosie.

Rosie who was currently seated on the couch a few feet away, arms wrapped around a pillow, legs drawn up and her surprised gaze fixed on Bilba.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You screamed,” Bilba said, getting painfully to her feet. “I thought you were dying!”

Rosie smirked. “And you came rushing to my rescue? How sweet.” Her eyes shifted back to the television and she suddenly shrieked again, her grip tightening on the pillow.

Bilba followed her gaze and saw the news running a story. A series of clips aired in a loop behind the reporter as she spoke, not that Bilba could hear it with the sound so low. She squinted as the clips began to replay, recognizing the Shire International Airport. A large, expensive looking jet sat on the tarmac, the door open and a long, velvet carpet stretching down a staircase and across the pavement to where a limousine waited.

“Look, Look, Look!!” Rosie squealed, her hand frantically waving at the screen, “they’re about to show him again!”

A figure appeared at the top of the ramp and slowly started down. From the distance the camera was at Bilba couldn’t make out much other than it was a man and he was dressed in some kind of uniform. What looked like an impressive array of medals and other things adorned the front catching the light and reflecting.

Bilba’s eyes dropped to the footer at the bottom of the screen. It read, in enormous letters, “Prince Thorin arrives for upcoming wedding to still unknown Princess of Shire.”

Bilba rolled her eyes and tossed the mace on a side table in disgust. “Oh, for the love of—next time I may just not come, did you ever think of that?”

Rosie ignored her, still fixated on the story.

Sometimes, Bilba had to admit, she worried a bit about Rosie’s obsession with royalty.

Speaking of which…as if on cue Rosie’s attention snapped back to her, eyes wide and pleading. “Bilba, do you think--”

“No,” Bilba stated.

“But you’re--”

“Disowned, remember? I barely know them.”

“But the Thain is your grandfather!”

“In name only.”

“And your guardian.”

“Also in name only,” Bilba muttered. Anyone with a brain knew her grandfather only took over custody of her after her parents died as a political move. The great, benevolent Thain graciously forgiving his errant daughter in death and taking on her orphaned daughter as a gesture of goodwill, even allowing her to live in the palace and providing her with the very best life had to offer.

At least until public attention died down. After that he couldn't get her shipped off to a boarding school on the other side of the country fast enough. She was still forced to visit in the summer, to keep up appearances, but over the last few years she'd been able to beg off under the pretext of traveling with the ballet company she’d joined.

Rosie had gone back to staring at her latest obsession again, idly chewing on a nail as she did. Bilba shook her head in bewilderment. Rosie was beautiful, on the shorter side, curvy with black hair that hung to her shoulders and beautiful hazel eyes. She could have any boy she wanted but chose, instead, to obsess about princes she’d never have a chance to meet.

Bilba returned to her room, grumbling about the slowly developing bruise on her elbow. Her alarm sounded just as she walked in and she slapped it off in agitation. Ten more minutes she could have slept in wasted thanks to her lovestruck roommate.

She showered quickly and threw on her jeans, shoes and a loose fitting, dark blue blouse. She ran a brush quickly through her hair before twisting it into a chignon and clipping it in place.

She headed out again, stopping in the kitchen to grab breakfast.

Rosie popped in, doing her best to give her puppy dog eyes.

“You seem to be of the mistaken belief I’m a male and those work on me.” Bilba poured herself a bowl of cereal and splashed in milk before leaning against the counter to eat.

“Come on,” Rosie pleaded, “you can at least tell me who he’s marrying! They’ve been keeping it all hushed up for over six months like it’s some kind of state secret or something!”

More like her grandfather was a paranoid bastard and didn’t want to reveal which of Bilba’s cousins was the future bride for fear of her being targeted by…whoever her grandfather was convinced was threatening him at the moment. Bilba firmly believed he had a calendar with a threat of the month written out for each page.

“Whoever it is I don’t envy them." That was saying a lot for her,considering the relationship she had with her royal relatives was…less than stellar.

“I guess,” Rosie mused. She leaned forward on the counter, dropping her chin on the cold granite. “Who wants to marry a guy who had to break his engagement to be with you?”

Bilba agreed silently. She still had no idea how her grandfather had managed that. The country of Erebor was much larger than Shire and far richer. They’d never had much contact with one another until six months earlier when, out of the blue, it had been announced the Crown Prince of Erebor would be marrying a Princess of Shire. The news had stunned the world as just two months before THAT Prince Thorin had officially announced his engagement to a childhood sweetheart.

A knock sounded on the door and Bilba put the news out of her mind as warmth rushed through her.

“Oh, lord,” Rosie grumbled, burying her face in her hands, “save me from the sappiness of lovebirds.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Bilba retorted, setting her bowl in the sink, “you’ll find your own someday, once you stop moping over Princes.”

“In that case I’ll never find anyone,” Rosie’s voice was muffled by her hands, “since I never plan to stop.”

Bilba stepped out of the kitchen and darted to the door, pulling it open with a huge grin on her face.

A second later she was grabbed around the waist, lifted and spun around. Bilba laughed and threw her arms around Bofur’s neck, kissing him soundly before he set her back on her feet.

“So,” he said with a grin, “how’s my girl? Ready for your big night?”

“I think so,” Bilba answered even as her stomach clenched with nerves. “Hopefully I don’t screw it all up.”

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured. Reaching up he pulled off the floppy, insanely ugly hat he always insisted on wearing everywhere he went, and plopped it on her head. “There, you can wear that for luck.”

Bilba grimaced and tugged it off. “I think I’d be more in line for the bubonic plague than luck if I wore that.”

Bofur scoffed. “Critic. That hat is a classic.”

“That hat is dead,” Bilba retorted, plopping it back on his head. "And should have been given a proper burial ages ago.”

Before he could respond she went back to her room to grab her bookbag. When she returned Rosie was sitting cross legged on the kitchen counter, watching the news for more updates on anything royal. Bofur was still in the doorway and she joined him, turning to wave at Rosie. The other girl waved back absently and Bofur pulled the door closed.

As they headed toward the building’s exit he took her bag and slung it over his shoulder where his already rested. He slid an arm around her waist and she snuggled into his side. “Think we’ll need to stage another intervention?”

Bilba laughed. “She’s eating so it probably won’t be as bad. We’ll see how long this coverage lasts.”

Bofur frowned. “Isn’t the wedding tonight?”

Bilba nodded. “Tragically my invitation seems to have been lost in the mail.

They reached the door and headed out, sunlight hitting Bilba in the eyes and forcing her to blink a moment or two before they adjusted.

Bofur shifted suddenly, grabbing her arms lightly and swinging around until he was in front of her. “Well,” he said agreeably, “I guess it’s a good thing you weren’t invited. You have big plans tonight as it is.”

Bilba grinned back at him, butterflies skittering about in her stomach. By a stroke of luck, at least for her, one of the girls playing a swan in her company’s production of "Swan Lake” had fallen ill and Bilba, as her understudy, had been asked to step in.

She was equal parts nerves and anticipation. She’d danced since she was three but this would be her first time on stage as part of an actual ballet company.

Bofur gave her an amused look. “You grin any harder and your face might just crack.”

Bilba laughed and kissed him before tugging out of his grip and racing toward his car. She heard him behind her and managed to get inside before he arrived, locking the door behind her. He gave her a dry look and held up the keys, shaking them at her.

Bilba grinned and leaned against the seat with a sigh as he strode around the other side to get in.

Her mind went briefly back to her grandfather and the wedding set to take place that night and she felt another pang of sympathy for whichever of her cousins had been caught in the Thain’s latest plot.

She also felt a sense of almost gratitude toward the older man. While his treatment of her had clearly been intended to harm it had, in fact, done more good for her than he would ever know. If he hadn’t done as he had, she’d have never joined her ballet company or met Bofur.

She’d never have been able to go to such a fantastic college as Bag End University, even if it was smaller and less renowned, and wouldn’t have met so many amazing people. Even Rosie, though she often wondered if the girl was her friend only because Bilba happened to be a granddaughter of the Thain, no matter how unwanted.

In any event, her life had turned out to be truly amazing.

The car roared to life and Bofur shot her a triumphant grin as he always did when the hunk of junk deigned to start.

She smiled back.

She truly was blessed.

 

***

 

The day rushed by in a blur. Most of Bilba’s classes were shortened in a sort of unofficial holiday in celebration of the upcoming nuptials. The few professors who did insist on full classes mostly spent them talking about Erebor or Prince Thorin and the benefits Shire would gain from the new alliance.

Bilba truly didn’t care and spent most of her day daydreaming, staring out various windows and working through her routine in her mind. The performance that evening would be her moment to shine, to prove to everyone she deserved more roles and, hopefully, one day principal roles. She remembered her dream and shivered at the thought of one day holding the status of principal dancer in a production.

As soon as her last class was out Bilba rushed to the bus stop and toward the theater. The going was slow as the streets were clogged with people trying to get near the palace for the wedding. Bilba didn’t know what they were thinking. The entire affair would take place inside, in private; they wouldn’t be able to witness anything. She knew Rosie planned to be there, stating she just wanted to be close to so historic an event as an alliance being sealed between Shire and the much larger and more prosperous kingdom of Erebor.

More likely, Bilba thought, her roommate just wanted to be close in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the Prince.

The bus finally arrived at the theater and she leapt down the stairs and ran inside. Thanks to the stupid wedding she was already later than she should be.

The entrance of the theater was enormous, carpeted in a lush, red and gold pattern thread. The walls were paneled mahogany and the ceiling overhead was gilded in gold leaf and inset lights that gave a soft glow to the room. Just ahead of her were the massive doors that, in only a few hours, would open to permit hundreds of guests eager to see the performance.

At the moment Bofur was waiting in front of them, dressed in the uniform identifying him as a stagehand. He’d been there most of the day already, having skipped his classes to help set up for the show. He opened the door and gave her an exaggerated bow. Bilba returned it and skipped past him, her excitement and nerves warring for dominance.

Inside the carpeting continued, plush enough she could feel it through her shoes. Here, row upon row of polished wood seats filled the room and the balcony overhead, each outfitted with a comfortable red headrest and seat cushion. The room was curved, angled around the stage at the front. The stage itself was huge and very deep, allowing for multiple sets to be set up in layers, a system of pulleys easily lifting one to reveal another behind it. Currently it was buzzing with activity as the crew set it up for the show. Bilba paused for a brief second to take it in, imagining herself on that stage, preforming before a packed house.

She breathed out, trying to calm herself, and then headed on. Steps on one side headed down into the orchestra pit and she took them swiftly, bypassing players rehearsing sheet music, and headed through a door that led to the back of the house.

Here it was pandemonium, dancers and stage crew rushing back and forth as they fought to get ready in time.

Bilba headed to the main dressing room for the dancers. When she entered the others were already there, most of them outfitted in their pure white costumes and headdresses. Several paused when she walked in, giving her confused looks and Bilba felt her face heat. Some good impression she was making, her mind scolded, showing up late opening night.

She scurried to an open mirror, planning to get dressed as quickly as possible. She headed to the racks to grab her costume and paused, her hand lifting to touch empty space.

What?

She twisted slightly to face the other girls, was this some kind of weird initiation joke?

“Do you know where my costume is?” she asked the room at large.

Silence fell, the girls all staring at her and Bilba felt a clenching begin in her gut.

Finally, a girl she recognized as another of the understudies, Christy or something, stepped forward. She was taller than Bilba, and most of the other girls, and didn’t often get parts as she stuck out so clearly in group dances. Bilba had no idea why she was there at the moment. Had someone else fallen ill?

“Bilba,” the girl started, wringing her hands before her. “They told us you weren’t coming.”

Bilba blinked. It occurred to her suddenly that the girl’s costume was too tight, as though it had been made for someone smaller.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what?”

“Marty called me,” Christy continued. “He said you couldn’t preform and I had to come take your place.”

“That…” Bilba stammered, “That’s not true. It’s a mistake.” Her stomach was in full cramp mode by then and her hands were clenched in fists at her side. The other girls were looking away from her and she felt her eyes burn in embarrassment. She swallowed hard, past the lump in her throat. “It’s a mistake,” she repeated, her voice a mere whisper. She held her head high and forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll handle it right now.”

She strode forward, keeping her eyes straight ahead. No one made a sound as she exited, but the second she was back in the hall a babble of voices broke out behind her.

Bilba ignored them and continued to move down toward the director’s office. The underground tunnel was large and sparse, made of concrete and currently crowded with crew, racks of costumes, set pieces and equipment. Bilba focused on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. She would not cry in front of them, she told herself, she would not.

Bofur walked out from around a corner.

“Bilba.” His voice was barely a hushed whisper. “You’re white as a sheet. What happened?”

She shook her head at him, not trusting herself to speak without breaking down and continued past. She reached Marty’s door and rapped on it, feeling the sharp sting of pain in her knuckles.

“Come in.”

Bilba obeyed and promptly froze at the sight that greeted her.

Marty was seated behind his desk, a plump, short, middle aged man with thinning hair and oversized glasses.

He wasn’t what gave her pause. What did were the two enormous men on either side of him, both in suits and sunglasses, hair slicked back, earpieces sticking out from their ears.

A sense of dread settled over her. “Marty? What’s going on? Why is Christy wearing my costume?’

One of the suits answered. “Your presence is requested at the palace, Miss Baggins. Immediately.”

Ice settled in her veins. Bilba stared at him without comprehension. “I can’t go,” she said with a thick swallow past the rock now lodged in her throat. “It’s a two hour flight by jet to get there. I have a show to preform in.”

Marty sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You won’t be preforming tonight.”

“But--” Bilba’s voice cracked and she took a deep breath, bringing it back under control. “But I PRACTICED.”

“I know you have,” Marty assured her. “Believe me, Bilba, I know.” He stood up and rounded the desk, coming over to grab her hands. They were sweaty and clammy and Bilba resisted the urge to jerk hers away from him. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “It’s the THAIN, Bilba. I can’t very well refuse him now can I?”

Bilba just stared at him.

She looked toward one of the suits. “Can’t I just go tomorrow?” she asked, her voice pleading. “Or even after the show? It’s only a couple of hours.”

“I’m sorry,” the man stated, his voice flat. “Your grandfather wants you immediately.”

“Why? What does he want?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” The man stepped forward. “You will come with us now. The jet is waiting.”

Bilba’s jaw trembled and, despite her best efforts, tears started to slip of their own accord down her face. “But I practiced.” she whispered.

“I'm so sorry,” Marty replied. He patted her hand awkwardly. “There will be other productions, Bilba. I promise.”

She didn’t respond. He released her hands and stepped back. The two suits stepped up on either side of her and then she was being escorted down the corridor. The people she passed stopped and stared and whispers followed her. Shame and embarrassment burned hot within her and the tears flowed ever more freely. She dug her nails into her palms in an attempt to stop herself from crying but to no avail.

She caught another glimpse of Bofur but shook her head at him as he stepped forward. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to him, she’d break down entirely and then her humiliation would truly be complete.

She was guided out of the corridor, back through the hall and, thankfully, through a back door instead of out front where show goers were no doubt beginning to gather.

A limo was waiting there and she was bundled inside and whisked off to the airport. The entire ride Bilba sat in stunned disbelief, half expecting and half praying she’d wake up and find the entire thing had been a terrible dream.

It was only once she’d been led onto her grandfather’s private jet that reality set in and Bilba finally allowed herself to break down. As the plane rolled down the runway and lifted smoothly into the air, Bilba huddled in her seat, pressed her face into her hand and sobbed.

The suits, and whoever else was on the plane, had the decency to leave her alone as despair rolled over her. She imagined they would probably not bother her until she’d managed to recover.

They didn’t speak to her the rest of the flight.

 

***

 

The palace hadn’t changed from the last time she’d seen it, nearly five years ago. Bilba watched it come into view, her eyes dry and puffy from crying, her body exhausted.

Her grandfather had built the new palace, setting it high upon a hill so it would be visible for miles. He’d wanted it as ostentatious as possible and had achieved his wish. It boasted hundreds of rooms, not that many were ever used, multiple swimming pools, an indoor theater capable of holding well over a hundred people and much, much more.

The car wound up the long driveway, past giant bushes cut in the shape of the Thain and his beloved, and much spoiled, children and other relations.

All but her mother that is. Getting disowned for marrying the wrong person meant you didn’t warrant a bush.

The car stopped at the front gates and she listened with halfhearted interest as they were buzzed in. By now she imagined the production was in full swing back home, Christy was probably even then leaping and twirling about the stage wearing Bilba’s costume and dancing her part.

The car continued on, rolling slowly up the curving driveway and coming to a stop at the entrance to the palace. Bilba was out before they were fully stopped, her depression already morphing into anger.

She marched inside and found her grandfather’s steward, a greasy looking weasel of a man named Grima Wormtongue, waiting for her.

“Where is he?” she ordered before he could speak.

Grima looked startled. “In his office,” he started, “but--”

He got no further as she stormed past him. The front foyer of the castle was meant to impress, marble floors, gilt lined walls, expensive art, tapestries and statues everywhere. Bilba saw none of it as she stomped her way to her grandfather’s office.

Once there she shoved the doors open and entered, finding the man who’d ruined six months of dedicated practice seated behind an ornate, walnut desk.

“Why?” she ordered. “What was so bloody important you forced me to miss my production?”

The Thain of Shire, Gerontius Took, gave her a look one might give to a particularly bothersome insect. He was old, nearing eighty, but had lost none of his vigor and his mind was as sharp, and devious, as ever.

“You look terrible,” he stated. “It’s a good thing I decided to keep you away until the last second. He’d probably have run in fright at the first sight of you otherwise.” He stood to his full height of just under six feet and nodded behind her. Bilba had no time to look as the door slammed shut, sealing her in the office with the old goat.

Gerontius moved casually out from behind his desk. If possible he’d grown even larger since she’d seen him last. He was dressed, as always, in the richest and most ostentatious robes and garments he could find. Rings sparkled on several fingers and he wore a crown so enormous and bedecked with jewels Bilba often wondered how he didn’t suffer a broken neck just from the strain of supporting it.

“How well do you remember your history, Bilba?” His voice was oily as ever, a tone to it that somehow always made her skin crawl.

“I don’t see what relevance that has to anything,” Bilba shot but stopped herself from saying more as he held up a hand.

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember much,” he mused. "You do take after your father after all, simple minded as he was.”

Bilba bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Rising to his bait would do nothing but give him the pleasure of knowing he’d gotten to her.

Gerontius settled on the corner of his desk. No doubt he probably felt he presented a commanding presence but, to Bilba, he just looked like a lazy, fat peacock.

“Nearly twenty years ago,” Gerontius said calmly, “the Kingdom of Erebor was conquered by the Kingdom of Mordor. The royal family was forced to flee and a dictator, going by the name of Smaug, was placed on the throne in their stead.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “I already know all that,” she snapped. “What does it have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to that,” her grandfather replied. He looked amused and Bilba mentally kicked herself for letting her emotions rule her. “A great portion of the population of Erebor fled under Smaug’s rule and, with the royal family in exile, there was little they could do to help them. It was at this time that Thror, the King in exile at that time, came to me desperate for help.” The man’s face twisted for a moment, as though remembering and Bilba suppressed a shiver at the glee in his eyes. “He had nothing to offer me at the time, of course, so he promised a repayment at a future date, once Erebor had been reclaimed.”

An event that had happened nearly ten years earlier, Bilba thought. Thror hadn’t lived to see it happen but his son, Thrain, had and now ruled in his father’s stead.

Realization dawned on her suddenly and she looked at her grandfather in horror. “Is that how you forced the alliance and the marriage? You called in the debt?” She had wondered, as had many analysts, why Erebor would ever agree to such a deal. The alliance, as she understood it was for them to send money and Shire to send food. The problem was that Erebor was so much larger than Shire that there was no way for them to ever send enough food to make much difference or to make an alliance worthwhile. Particularly one that, seemingly arbitrarily, forced the Crown Prince to break off an engagement and marry a woman he’d never met. 

Her grandfather smiled, a truly wicked look, and Bilba felt her heart sink at the notion she was related to one so incredibly cruel. “Why?” she asked again, though this time for a different reason. “They would have given you a fortune in payment, why ask this?”

She had no doubt it was somehow money related. It was common knowledge Shire was in dire straits financially. Gerontius Took indulged himself and his family with every indulgence, it was only a matter of time before the money started to run out.

“Oh, they did,” he stated, “but I rejected it. It was not nearly enough given the amount of help we provided when Erebor was at its most dire need.”

Somehow she doubted that. “So you demanded an alliance,” she stated flatly, “and a political marriage to seal it. Why?”

Her grandfather nearly preened with pride. “The reason for the alliance should be obvious. I want money, they have it." He settled back slightly on the desk, "as for the reason for the marriage, that I'll keep to myself for the time being. As far as you need to know it is merely symbol of the alliance, a guarantee of the good will of both our kingdoms.”

Except Erebor was giving up her Crown Prince while Shire was only giving up a random Princess or, more likely, close blood relative to the throne, Bilba thought, hardly a fair trade.

“Not to mention guaranteed hatred of whatever poor girl is forced into such a situation,” Bilba responded. “Who is it?”

He looked at her, smile still firmly in place on his face.

It was a testament to how tired she was that the truth didn’t hit her immediately.

Instead it was a slow trickle. The mystery over who the woman was, grabbing her from her production on the night of the wedding, giving her no time to prepare or consider running, her grandfather’s words when she’d walked in. The very fact he’d be sending whoever he’d chosen into a hostile situation and, therefore, would most likely pick someone he disliked.

Bilba staggered and her back hit the door. “No,” she whispered. “Grandfather, no.”

“Oh, it’s Grandfather, now is it?” Gerontius stated. “You will be married in approximately a half hour’s time. I expect you to look better than you do now.”

Bilba shook her head, her entire body trembling. She continued to sag, gravity seeming to increase its hold on her. “No,” she repeated, “you can’t force me. I’ll say no.”

“Will you? You’d have a hard time refusing your guardian.”

“Only for six more months,” she said in desperation, “I’m almost twenty-one.”

“At which time I shall still be the Thain,” her grandfather said, “and, thus, still in control.”

"I don't care," Bilba insisted. "You can ruin my life. I'll leave, go to another country." Bofur would go with her, she knew he would. It would be difficult but preferable to being used as a pawn in whatever plot her grandfather was concocting.

Idly he reached over his desk and picked up a folder. “You know, just because you’re the bastard of that scum your mother married doesn’t mean I don’t keep an eye on you. Consider it watching the half that’s my blood.” He flipped the folder open and started to page through it. “You have amassed yourself quite a number of friends I see.” He held up a picture and Bilba found herself staring at a shot of Rosie, striding across the courtyard on campus, probably on her way to class. Another picture and there was Petunia, her lab partner in Chemistry, a shy, quiet girl who wanted to be a doctor. He showed another picture and another friend and another and another after that.

Then he held up a new photo and Bilba felt her breath stop in her lungs.

Bofur.

Bofur, his arms wrapped around her, a giant smile on his face as he said…something. She couldn’t even place what day that shot would have been taken.

“Promising career this one had.” Her grandfather turned the picture toward himself, studying it. “Oh, I’m sorry, has. It would be such a shame if anything was to happen to derail it, wouldn’t it. I doubt he'd even be able to find work in another country if it was found out he'd derailed the alliance, angering both Shire and Erebor.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bilba whispered, but he would, oh, she knew he would. He’d made her mother’s life a living hell, made it nearly impossible for her or Bilba’s father to find work. They’d been left in poverty until the day they died, driving a car with bald tires on ice. They’d spun out and right into a lake that wasn’t nearly frozen enough to support the weight of a car.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't do this."

Gerontius set the photo down. "You are a tool," he said, his voice cold. "Did you genuinely believe you would never be used?"

Bilba heard a loud roaring in her ears.

She sat hard on the ground. Her body no longer responded to her commands. She swayed, dizziness overcoming her and, vaguely, felt her body slump to one side.

Bofur, she thought, and her heart clenched at the realization she’d most likely never see him again. That, in all likelihood, her grandfather would announce her marriage in a half’s hour time and Bofur would think she’d betrayed him, that this had been her plan all along.

Rosie as well. She could imagine the hurt her friend would feel thinking Bilba had planned to marry a Prince all along and had deliberately cut her out.

A nearly hysterical laugh bubbled out of her throat.

And, then, Bilba proceeded to faint dead away.

 

***

 

If life held any fairness in it Bilba would have remained unconscious and Prince Thorin would have been forced to return to Erebor without her. Thorin could elope with his ex-fiancee, the alliance could be re-negotiated and Bilba could go back to her own life.

She already knew life wasn’t the least bit fair. Her parents death had taught her that much.

She ended up being out less than ten minutes.

When she woke up her grandfather was no longer in the room. Instead a group of people were clustered around her. They immediately dragged her up and proceeded to manhandle her. Before she could try to argue she found herself stripped naked and hustled through a door into her grandfather’s private bathroom. There she was ordered to bathe and, when she didn’t do a good enough job, they took over and scrubbed her until she was sure her skin would actually come off.

Once that was done she was hauled back out, shoved into undergarments and a corset and pushed into a chair. The primping started after that, makeup and hair and fake eyelashes and nails. Through it all Bilba sat in a numb sort of trance, watching the proceedings as though they were happening to someone else.

She was stood up unexpectedly and handed a pair of sheer nylons to put on. She obeyed dumbly and then dutifully stepped into spiked, gold high heels.

The dress was a sight to behold and, under any other circumstance, Bilba would have been in awe. Now, however, she stood like a mannequin as they strapped her into it. It was long sleeved, going over the backs of her hands and ending in small loops around each middle finger. The bodice was tight against her body and the skirt was comprised of so much fabric it felt like she was wearing bricks. The overlay for it was gold lace, culminating in a train over ten feet long. A veil completed the look, draping over her head and going to her waist. It was so heavy that, when shown a mirror, she couldn’t see her face and, for that, she was grateful. Given the beauty of the dress she had no doubt her grandfather planned to record and broadcast the entire thing. No doubt he would show himself as the loving grandfather doing right by the granddaughter of an unapproved marriage, ensuring she made a good match and was taken care of.

She was guided from the office. Outside one of her cousins, Beatrice, was leaning against the wall. She was closest in age to Bilba, with blond hair and green eyes. She was gorgeous with a fit, athletic body she was now showing off in a sparkling gold sheath dress.

She pushed off the wall and came forward to grab Bilba’s arms. “Lucky you,” she almost purred. “If he weren’t so pissed about having to break up with that little mouse of his I’d have married him myself. He’s hot.”

Bilba gave her a blank look. Beatrice pulled her down the hall and Bilba went with her, wordlessly allowing the other woman to take her to the doors of the grand ballroom.

“Grandfather wanted a big wedding,” Beatrice said, “but Thorin refused. So we’re faking it instead. We’ll let the media use clips, you know? Make it seem like it was this big long thing.”

Bilba didn’t care, wasn’t listening, was barely aware of her surroundings.

Footsteps sounded and then Gerontius was there, taking her arm in his.

He was going to walk her down the aisle, Bilba realized. The thought made her physically ill but she couldn’t do anything without risking the futures of her friends. Of Bofur.

Bofur.

As music began to play and the doors were thrown open she tried to imagine it was him waiting at the end of the long aisle as they began to walk down.

It would have been him, eventually, of that she was sure.

As they entered the room Bilba could see what Beatrice had meant. A few rows of seats had been set up at the front of the room, filled with people. No doubt that would be one of the clips shown over and over with no one ever questioning why no wide shots were ever shown.

At the head of the aisle a large altar had been set up, upon which she would shortly be sacrificed. It was draped in greens and blue, the colors of Shire, and overlaid with blue and silver, the colors of Erebor. A man she didn’t recognize stood waiting to officiate and, to her surprise, many of her female cousins, dressed in the same dress as Beatrice, stood lined up to one side. As she watched Beatrice joined them near the front, taking the place of Maid of Honor. The other side held a number of men that Bilba vaguely thought she recognized from the security force, including the two who’d dragged her away from her life. She wondered if the clips of them would be photoshopped to make them appear even more different.

They reached the front of the aisle and Bilba was finally forced to look at the man waiting there.

Thorin Durin was tall, much taller than he had appeared descending from the plane. Bilba was sure her heels added several inches to her normal height of 5’3” but he still towered over her, probably easily topping six feet. His shoulders were broad, his face chiseled and sporting a short cropped beard. His hair, dark and with a slight wave, was worn long and currently tied back in a low ponytail. Two braids, she vaguely remembered something culturally significant about them, draped over his shoulders, silver beads capping them. He wore the uniform he’d had on when she’d see him departing the plane, had it just been that morning? The uniform of royalty, marking every inch of him as the Crown Prince he was.

She risked a look at his eyes, and instantly quailed, wishing she hadn’t. They were a blue that couldn’t possibly be found in nature, and stared at her with a blank coldness that she thought might just match what she currently felt inside herself at the moment.

The minister began. The service was short, not at all what she’d imagined or dreamed of when she was younger.

When Thorin spoke, his deep, slightly accented voice offering a curt, “I do” she started in surprise.

A moment later the question was asked of her. Feeling as though bars were closing around her, Bilba focused on Thorin’s shoes, polished to a shine so intense she could see her veiled reflection in them, and offered a quiet “I do.”

The bars clanged shut, the sound so loud in her mind it was a wonder they weren’t audibly heard.

Thorin’s hand took hers and a ring was slid onto the ring finger of her left hand. She didn’t look at it. It felt like a manacle, dragging at her hand.

The minister spoke a few more words and Thorin stepped up to a small table she hadn't noticed before. He bent, wrote something, then straightened, spun on one heel and marched out, leaving her at the altar. Bilba felt a brief moment of hope. Had he changed his mind? Decided he couldn't go through with it?

Then the minister said something to her, gesturing toward the table and she stepped forward to see a marriage license laying there. Thorin's signature was scrawled on it, the lines harsh and jagged.

Someone handed her a pen. For several seconds Bilba stared at it until her grandfather cleared his throat loudly next to her. Choking back a sob, Bilba bent and signed her name.

And, just like that, her life as she knew it was over.  

Her cousins surrounded her, talking excitedly and lifting her hand to stare at her ring.

All Bilba could do was stare at her signature.

It felt like she'd signed her own death warrant.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin strode down the hall toward the quarters he’d been assigned. He dragged at the knot of his tie, viciously ripping it off and throwing it to the side as he entered the room. His jacket followed a moment later. Neither item hit the ground in a satisfying manner so, in a flash of pique, he wrenched at the monstrosity on his ring finger. His father had refused to provide one of the family heirloom rings for the charade and Thorin hadn’t been able to bring himself to shop for any.

He’d never had a chance to buy rings for his and Kyra’s wedding. He wouldn’t buy one for a stranger.

In the end the Thain had provided rings. The one currently refusing to come off his finger was massive, mithril with a thick band of diamonds in the center and two more, smaller bands set off to each side. It was garish, ostentatious and nowhere close to a style he’d voluntarily wear.

With a burst of pain the thing finally scraped over his knuckle and he flung it violently, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the sound it made striking the floor. It skidded out of view beneath the bed where it could stay until the end of time for all he cared.

He grabbed a chair and jerked it around to face him. The legs screeched against the marble floor, tilting off balance for a moment before settling.

Thorin collapsed into it, braced his elbows on his knees and put his face into his hands. He ran his fingers back into his hair, digging them into his scalp until sparks of pain rippled through the skin.

He sighed and shut his eyes, the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his temples.

His phone rang and he jumped, startled. He pushed up from the seat and grabbed it off the bed where he’d left it an hour earlier.

A picture popped up on the screen identifying the caller and his heart stuttered. He slid his thumb across the screen to accept the call and held it up to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Oak.” Kyra’s voice was soothing, as familiar to him as his own. “Did she still look like her picture?”

Thorin sank down on the edge of the bed. His anger melted away into tired resignation. Kyra hadn’t deserved any of this. “I wouldn’t know. She wore a veil so thick they could have married me to a giraffe for all I know.”

Kyra laughed. “I think even you would have noticed _that_.”

Thorin felt his own lips twitch though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Perhaps.”

Thorin hadn’t known much about Shire other than that it was small and on the other side of Middle Earth. He’d had no idea his grandfather had ever been there during the exile, much less incurred an honor debt from them. After discovering he'd be required to marry one of its Princesses he'd visited a handful of times hoping to meet or at least talk to the woman. The Thain had refused to identify her, however, citing vague security concerns. When Thorin had finally received her name, less than a week before the wedding, he'd been equal parts relieved it wasn't any of the truly horrible ones he'd met and startled to discover he hadn't, in fact, met her at all.

Even then he'd been denied his requests to meet her, the excuse now that she refused to speak to him or see him before the wedding. In the end, Thorin had been forced to resort to the Internet to try and find information on his bride. He'd found plenty of pictures of the Thain and his family. Most of the photos, and attached articles, had involved the various members being caught up in some scandal or another. In Erebor, a country that prided itself on honor, the behavior would have been horrifying but, here, the Thain seemed to find it amusing. From what Thorin had seen the man indulged every whim of his family, particularly his granddaughters, spoiling them rotten in the process.

It gave him little hope on the type of person Princess Bilba was, in spite of the fact she failed to show up much at all online. He'd found only sparse information, the only major article and accompanying picture detailing the death of her parents when she was ten. The girl in the photo had been rail thin with frizzy, choppy hair that looked like she’d cut it herself and thick framed glasses. After that all he had come across were brief snippets of how she refused interviews, had chosen to live as far from her family as possible and never attended gatherings at the palace. There were a handful of other photos but all were taken at a distance and were rarely in focus. Bilba Baggins, as far as he could tell, preferred isolation.

“Well,” Kyra was saying, “hopefully she doesn’t still look fifteen or people will think you’re a cradle robber.”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice,” Thorin growled, “so they can hardly blame me. They can blame the fool Thain.”

“He’s just trying to do what’s best for his country.” Kyra said, ever the diplomat’s daughter.

“On the back of _my_ country,” Thorin said, his anger mounting again. The deal the Thain had demanded was absurd. When they had first received word from him six months earlier showing proof of the debt and demanding repayment, Thorin’s father had offered an obscene amount of money. The sum would have kept Shire flush with more cash than they knew what to do with for generations. The King had expected the matter to be closed and, when the reply came, had genuinely thought it would be a gracious acceptance and expression of gratitude.

The rejection had been startling to say the least. The demand that Erebor form an alliance, one where Shire received significantly more than Erebor, had been shocking.

The mandate that the alliance be cemented with a marriage, as if the Thain had concerns they wouldn’t honor the agreement otherwise, had been downright insulting.

“We’ll figure it out.” Kyra’s voice was optimistic and Thorin closed his eyes in misery. The throbbing in his head tipped over into a full blown headache and he pressed his fingers into his forehead with a grimace.

“Kyra--”

She cut him off. “I know, I know, Durin I and blah, blah, blah.” Her tone grew a bit sharper for an instant. “You didn’t consummate the marriage did you?”

“Of course not!” Thorin nearly shouted, his eyes snapping open in surprise.

“Then the marriage isn’t official,” Kyra said, smug, “so we can figure it out.”

Thorin didn’t answer. Kyra firmly believed their engagement could somehow be salvaged and he had given up trying to convince her otherwise. Privately he admitted her optimism was infectious, no matter how far-fetched he knew it was. Kyra didn’t care about the obstacles in the way, like the fact that annulling the marriage to the Shire Princess would destroy the alliance and bring dishonor on Erebor. She also didn’t care about the law instituted by Erebor’s founder, Durin I, a nutjob as far as Thorin was concerned. It dictated Ereborean royalty could only marry once in their lifetime, period, no loopholes regarding consummation or anything else. The law meant Thorin had been done the second he’d signed the blasted marriage license.

A knock sounded on the door.

“I have to go, Kyra,” Thorin told her, “I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“Ok,” she responded. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Thorin answered, forcing a note of cheer into his voice. He ended the call and went to answer the door.

Princess Beatrice was standing there; leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall in what she probably thought was a seductive manner. It was not the first time he'd had to face her in such a pose during one of his visits but, given the wedding, he'd sincerely hoped it was the last.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

She grinned suggestively at him. “I certainly hope so.” Her eyes traveled down the length of his body and back up again. Thorin felt his skin crawl.

“In case you missed it,” he said, his voice tight, “I’m married.”

She lifted her shoulders in a languid shrug and raised her left hand, flashing a giant diamond on her ring finger. “Join the club.”

Thorin still had one hand on the edge of the door and tightened his grip, trying to not be too obvious about the disgust he currently felt. “I’m married,” he repeated in a low growl, “to your cousin.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes and straightened off the wall. “So what? I’m prettier than she is.”

Thorin didn’t bother to respond. He hadn’t seen Bilba’s face during the wedding but, he would admit, the way her figure filled her dress had been flattering and suggested she’d definitely matured from the old photo he’d found. Thorin had always preferred women with curves and she’d certainly possessed plenty of those. Beatrice, in contrast, had the rail thin look that many models sported, attractive to some but never a look that had caught Thorin’s eyes.

She sashayed forward, lifting her arms as if she wanted to wrap them around his neck. Thorin responded the same way he had every other time he'd had to put up with her. He took one step back and closed the door firmly in her face.

He dragged his luggage out from under the bed and fished through it till he found the pain medication that Dis had loaded him up with before he’d left. She’d insisted he’d need it before everything was done and she was right. He downed two with a glass of water from the bathroom and then collapsed across the bed, draping an arm over his eyes and struggling to relax.

He was doubly grateful he’d refused to allow any of his family to come. The last thing he wanted was any of these people having a negative influence on his young nephews and Dis probably would have ended up with high blood pressure.

Bilba Baggins…now Bilba Durin. He wondered if she was as bad as Beatrice. He prayed she wasn't worse though it was admittedly hard to picture what worse would even look like. She was pretty enough on the outside, at least from what he’d seen, but he could say the same about Beatrice or any of the others he’d been forced to spend time with over the course of the last six months as plans had been finalized. No doubt any beauty she possessed didn’t extend any deeper than her skin.

Another knock sounded on the door and Thorin snarled in its general direction. It repeated and he finally shoved himself up, anger already threatening to get the better of him.

He stalked to the door and ripped it open, fully expecting to see Beatrice trying to seduce him again.

Instead he found himself facing Dwalin who simply raised both hands, one holding a six pack of Blue Mountain ale, the other a deck of playing cards. “Figured you wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.”

“You figured right,” Thorin growled. His head still bothered him but he was too angry to sleep. He snatched the six pack out of the other man’s hand and waved him inside.

His mind went briefly to his new wife but he brushed it aside.

She could find her own entertainment.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Bilba wasn’t entirely aware of things after she signed the marriage license. It felt like a fog settled over her mind. Sound faded to a far off murmur and, though she could see her cousins touching the dress and her ring, she didn’t feel it. It was as though she were standing in another room watching what was going on.

At one point she became vaguely aware of someone holding her arm and leading her.

After that things got hazy.

When the fog finally began to lift and she came back to herself, Bilba found she was sitting on a chair in the room she normally stayed in when forced to visit the palace in the summers.

Her eyes roamed around the small space, taking in the simple bed and writing desk, the cramped bathroom. The room was intended for a servant, which was generally how she was treated when she visited. Every so often her grandfather would invite the media on a tour and, at that time, he would always show an opulent suite of rooms he claimed were hers.

She didn’t even know where those rooms were.

A low heat began to uncoil at the base of her mind. She thought of her mother, disowned not for marrying someone unsuitable but for marrying a Duke’s son when she’d been expected to marry the son of one of the Thain’s cronies. A thank you for the man loaning the Crown an exorbitant amount of money after a particularly lavish spending spree by one of Bilba’s aunts.

The heat flickered and grew hotter.

She thought of her mother’s dowry, created for her by the late Queen and confiscated by the Thain and most likely showered on someone particularly awful like Lobelia out of spite.

Liquid flames began to spread outward, winding along pathways in her brain, slipping through mental rooms where she usually stored things like rationality and common sense.

Bilba thought of the way the Thain had systematically destroyed her parent’s lives, culminating in indirectly causing their deaths.

The way he’d taken guardianship of her as a marketing tool; a way to increase his approval rating. How he’d placed her as far from the palace as he could, only bringing her around once a year to make himself look good. Summers for her in the palace had always been a nightmare. She was treated as little more than a servant, kept in poor quarters, wearing clothing that should have been retired long ago. Balls had been denied her, the Thain refused to let her give interviews and she wasn’t allowed at the palace unless specifically invited. The Thain gave excuses to the press, always painting himself as the long-suffering, doting grandfather and her as the sullen, ungrateful, nearly hermit-like granddaughter.

And now this.

He’d learned from her mother, Bilba realized, to not let on what was happening until it was too late to change.

The fire exploded into an inferno, white hot flames racing through her body, igniting her nerves, lighting her veins and filling her with an incredible heat.

Bilba lunged up from the chair, grabbed it and flung it as hard as possible. It struck the wall and shattered into kindling, the pieces clattering to the ground.

Bilba ripped the veil off, catching several wayward pieces of hair in the process, and destroyed it tearing the lace into small shreds and flinging them away from her.

She stormed over to the desk and wrenched a drawer open, a wicked smile of satisfaction gracing her features. No one had thought to clean out her things before putting her in the room.

She pulled out a large pair of scissors, lifted a wad of the wedding gown and set to work.

She didn’t stop once the dress was in pieces on the ground, moving instead to the comforter on the bed, the mattress and pillow, the thin curtains, and the ratty rug on the ground. She broke the mirror in the small bathroom and carved her name into the headboard and the walls.

That action gave her an idea. Moving to her closet she dressed in an older, worn pair of pants and a t-shirt. Her hair had come undone and she paused long enough to put it up in a ponytail. She didn’t bother with shoes or socks; she’d always preferred to go barefoot anyway.

Holding the scissors she headed to the door only to find it locked. She snorted and returned to her desk, reaching a hand under it and quickly ripping off the lock pick set she kept taped there.

Years of being locked in her room when no one had use for her had been beneficial in one area, it had taught her to be exceptional at getting out of them, especially _this_ one.

The locked clicked open quickly. She retrieved her scissors and headed out into the palace, humming as she did.

Time to go let her family know how she felt about recent events.

 

***

 

Thorin was in the midst of losing a ceremonial set of battle axes to Dwalin when he heard a commotion in the hallway.

Footsteps pounded past his doorway, complete with voices shouting orders. In the distance Thorin could hear the sound of a woman shrieking in rage. It sounded like Beatrice.

Dwalin tossed his cards down and got up, one hand moving to the gun on his belt. “Stay here,” he ordered.

Thorin rolled his eyes but obeyed, lounging back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. The last time he’d defied Dwalin’s orders the other man had handcuffed him to a chair.

Just as Dwalin reached the door Thorin heard running footsteps again, going the opposite direction. They darted past his door and faded.

Dwalin drew his gun, holding it lightly at his side.

“I don’t think they’ll be thrilled at the sight of you with a gun you’re not supposed to have,” Thorin remarked dryly.

Dwalin muttered something uncharitable under his breath. He barked a repeat of his order to stay put at Thorin and then opened the door a crack, sliding out and shutting it behind him.

As soon as he was gone Thorin casually slid a hand under his jacket and drew the gun he had holstered at the small of his back. He laid it on the table and rested his hand on it lightly.

He wasn’t an _idiot_ after all.

Dwalin was back a few minutes later, his weapon back in its holster. He raised an eyebrow at the one Thorin had on the table. “Weren’t you just griping about my gun?”

Thorin shrugged and put his back. “So what’s going on?”

“It would appear,” Dwalin said, dropping into his seat, “your little wife is having the mother of all tantrums.”

Thorin paused in the middle of picking his cards back up. “Over what?” She hadn't reacted at all during the wedding. Thorin had wondered at one point if she wasn't actually bored with the whole thing.

“Beats me,” Dwalin fanned his own cards out and examined them. “Maybe they saddled us with a looney one.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Thorin grumbled. He sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. His headache _had_ been getting better. “Wonderful,” he muttered. “My only marriage.”

“Who knows,” Dwalin said cheerfully, “maybe your father will repeal the law. You can wait a couple years, quietly annul on grounds of her being eight kinds of crazy and marry Kyra.”

Thorin’s lips twisted. “And what about the law forbidding my father from changing or introducing any law for personal gain for himself or a family member?”

Dwalin paused in the act of drawing another card. He cursed creatively. “Durin I was a right bastard wasn’t he?”

Thorin didn’t comment. He actually agreed with that law, it was meant to be a check on royalty, stopping them from abusing their power by creating laws that only benefitted them or, worse, were designed as bribes to gain favors.

It was just bad luck that the law specifically screwed him over in this particular instance.

Outside the door more footsteps rushed past and he sighed.

He was beginning to get an impression of what worse than Beatrice was like.

 

***

 

Bilba hid behind a statue of some ancestor or another and listened with glee as Beatrice screamed about her ruined wardrobe, and her ruined room, particularly her shoes, jewelry, oh, and bathroom, mustn’t forget that.

They guards had been searching for her for over an hour but Bilba wasn’t concerned that they would find her. She knew the castle better than they did, having spent hours amusing herself by exploring.

So far she’d visited several of her Aunts’ rooms, the ones who had spent hours berating her mother’s character while she had to stand there silently, as well as most of her obnoxious, spoiled, cousins. There were a handful who weren’t so bad so she’d avoided them, choosing instead to pay extra attention to Aunt Lobelia’s room.

She hadn’t gone to the Thain’s room. Even as angry as she was the man still terrified her, as he always had, and she couldn’t bring herself to further incur his wrath by damaging his belongings.

The guards were moving off and Beatrice’s rage was quieting down, probably as she went to find the Thain and demand new things.

Bilba edged out from behind the statue and headed down the hall, walking lightly on her feet to keep as quiet as possible. She passed a number of servants along the way but they simply smiled at her and kept going. Many of them were her friends and it was from them that she’d learned the ins and outs of the palace.

She ducked into one of the unused guest rooms and slid a hand into the pocket of her jeans, coming out with the cell phone she’d lifted from Beatrice’s room. The thing weighed a ton; it had a gold case covered in pink diamonds.

Beatrice didn’t bother to password protect it as she was too impatient to spend the few seconds to enter it every time she used it.

Bilba squeezed herself onto the window seat in the darkened room, pulling her legs up and wrapping an arm around them. Most of the anger had drained out of her during her reign of destruction and now she just felt tired. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden butterflies in her stomach and dialed.

She put the phone to her ear and squeezed her eyes shut as the ring sounded. The ballet was probably only halfway through so Bofur was doubtlessly still working. She didn’t know when else she’d have a chance to get ahold of him though and he deserved to hear what had happened from her so…

“Hello?”

Bilba’s stomach clenched violently. “Bofur?” Her voice stumbled as she spoke and she dug the fingers of her free hand into her leg.

“Bilba?” Bofur said, relief coloring his voice. “Are you all right? I’ve been trying to find out what happened to you for hours! All anyone would say is a couple of suits dragged you out.”

“The last few hours?” Bilba said, “What about the play?”

“The play?” Bofur said, his tone disbelieving. “I don’t care about the play, Bilba. I care about you. Are you alright?”

Bilba felt her lower lip begin to tremble and her eyes watered. “I--” She started to say only to cut off as her voice broke. “Bofur, I--”

“What is it?” Bofur asked, his voice gentle. “What happened?”

It was like flipping a switch, his concern pushing her over completely from anger to despair. Curling in as tight a ball as possible, Bilba broke down. Through tears and a voice nearly unintelligible from sobbing she poured out what had happened. As she spoke she used the fingers on her left hand to twist the ring on her finger. She’d barely glanced at it earlier but now fixed her eyes on it as she talked, picturing it like a shackle on her finger. She didn’t know who’d picked it out but it was nothing close to her style, a thick band of mithril with an enormous diamond in the center, smaller diamonds clustered around it. The ring was too heavy for her hand and dragged at her finger.

When she finished speaking there was dead silence on the other end of the phone. Bilba was a mess, her nose running and nearly hiccupping with sobs. Her eyes were dry and scratchy and a headache was forming behind them from the stress and crying.

“Bofur?” She pressed the phone to her head so hard that pain throbbed through her ear. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. I was just--”

“Run away with me.”

Bilba’s mind crashed to a stop. “What?”

“Run away with me,” Bofur repeated, his voice tense. “Can you get money or do you need me to wire it?”

“I--” Bilba’s mind reeled, trying to catch up with what he was saying. “Bofur--”

“Get to the airport,” he continued. “Fly to Gondor, it’s the shortest flight but they’re big enough that neither Shire nor Erebor will try to force you out of it. You can go to Arwen, she'll protect you.”

“But,” Bilba stuttered, “your job. What about--”

“There are other ballet companies,” Bofur cut in. He gave a short laugh. “Though I imagine I won’t be visiting my brother anytime soon, not after I ran off with the Crown Prince’s bride.”

Bofur’s brother worked in a bakery in the capitol city of Erebor, Bilba remembered. Bofur was incredibly proud of him and talked of him constantly. Almost all Bilba knew about Erebor came from him.

“What if they find out he’s related to you?” she asked, barely daring to start to hope. “What if they retaliate against him?”

“They won’t,” Bofur said confidently. “I told you before about their honor system, it’s crazy. He hasn’t done anything to them; they won’t hold his relationship to me against him even if they did find out about it.”

“And what about the alliance?” Bilba asked, struggling to believe such a plan could possibly be feasible. She turned her gaze out the window as she spoke, watching as people scurried back and forth on the grounds below. The palace rarely slept, there was always something going on. The activity would make it both easier and harder to get out of the palace.

A tiny flicker of hope sparked to life, was she actually considering it?

“What about it?” Bofur said. “Prince Thorin held up his end of the bargain, the fact you ran off isn’t his fault. His honor is intact. Erebor’s honor is intact. The alliance is intact.”

Bilba took a deep, shuddering breath. The tiny spurt of flame grew stronger and she clung to it, unwilling to let it go. “Ok,” she whispered. She wiped her face and straightened on the window ledge. “Ok,” she said again, her voice stronger. “Let’s do it.”

“Good girl,” Bofur said his voice happy. “I knew you wouldn’t let that bastard get you down for long. Alright, get to the airport. Do you have money for the ticket?”

“I can get it,” Bilba said, her confidence slowly building.

“Great. I’ll leave immediately. I’ll see you in Gondor, alright?”

“Alright,” Bilba replied.

There was silence on the other end for an instant and then, “I love you Bilba, never forget that.”

Bilba smiled and something inside her relaxed. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up and she let her hand with the phone drop to the ledge.

She swung her legs off and stood up. She straightened her back and held her head up high. She reached for the eyesore on her finger and twisted it off. She nearly threw it but paused in the middle of drawing her hand back. The ring was probably worth an obscene amount of money and, after all he had done the least the Thain could do was finance her new life in Gondor.

She shoved it in a back pocket and then marched from the room. She'd have to stop by her room to get her shoes but it would only take a moment.

Then she had a plane to catch.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Getting out of the palace proved less of a challenge than Bilba feared. She had no money of her own with her and the ring would help her get started once she was in Gondor so she stopped by Beatrice’s room to pick up one of her cousin’s many, many credit cards.

Beatrice wouldn’t even notice it was gone.

She almost left the phone but, at the last second, changed her mind and kept it in case she needed to call Bofur. It also occurred to her the number had probably appeared on his phone when she’d called and, if he tried to call back, she didn’t want to risk inflicting her cousin on him.

After that she took the servant’s corridors down to the kitchens. All the servants she passed greeted her warmly. None of them made any attempt to sell her out to the guards searching for her.

Once she arrived at the kitchen she squeezed around massive ovens and stainless steel countertops, sliding past the array of chefs already preparing for breakfast the next day. The smell of fresh bread hit her nostrils and her stomach grumbled; reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch.

She ignored it, telling herself she could eat on the plane. Her stomach was so knotted up that nothing she ate would stay down anyway.

The doors appeared in front of her and she picked up her pace, moving almost invisibly as she did. She’d nearly made it when one of the chefs, an elderly woman named Bonnie, stopped her with a grin.

“Lady Bilba,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron before enfolding Bilba in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming to the wedding!”

Bilba hugged her back, forcing a grin. “It was sort of a last minute thing,” she said dryly. “I didn’t know I was coming either.”

Bonnie drew back and put her hands on Bilba’s shoulders. “I hear you’ve been up to something again. Your grandfather is looking for you.”

Thankfully that wasn’t anything new. Bilba was fairly well known for disappearing frequently on her visits to the palace, sneaking out when the treatment got overwhelming and spending the day at the movies or window shopping.

“You know me,” she quipped. She hugged the woman again. “I have to go but I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Bonnie nodded. She stepped back, clearing the way to the door. “I can understand the urge, especially with the way that cousin of yours is probably carrying on. Landing someone like the Crown Prince of Erebor probably didn’t help her ego problem.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow, she thought Beatrice had married Prince Thorin? It said something about her family that Bonnie thought it possible in spite of the fact that Beatrice was already married. Most likely she thought Beatrice had simply quietly divorced the timid, but exceptionally rich, Duke she'd married in order to marry the Crown Prince. Bilba could actually have seen that happening had Beatrice wished it. Regardless, it was clear the Thain had kept things under so tight a wrap that no one even in the palace realized what had happened yet. The servants usually knew everything that was going on in the palace, no matter how secret it was supposed to be.

“I would imagine not,” she agreed simply. The last thing she wanted to do was get into the truth. They would find out soon enough.

She waved to the woman and headed out the door, smiling as the night air hit her. Overhead the lights of the palace drowned out any decent view but she could pick out a few stars and a fat full moon shone down from where it had risen just over the castle.

It was a beautiful night.

Bilba headed around the back of the palace, avoiding the massive crowd undoubtedly gathered at the front gates. Rosie was most likely among them and she felt a twinge at the thought of her friend being so close. She pushed it aside and moved between bushes and shrubs, keeping herself in shadow as much as possible. The building sat on a massive amount of land that she had often thought was poorly planned and set up for security purposes. Considering how easily she was moving through it at the moment, she wondered how no one had ever managed to sneak in before.

She reached the stone wall that encircled the entire area. It had been put up by her ancestors and was ancient and poorly kept up. Moss covered it and many areas had holes and chunks missing. In addition to that, trees had been planted at intervals and allowed to grow free so that branches now hung over the top edge.

Bilba had always been an avid climber and scaled one of the trees easily, barely feeling the edges of bark biting into her hands or scraping against her legs through her jeans. When she reached the top she carefully transferred from the branches onto the top of the wall itself. She squatted, gripping the edges with her hands and gently lowered her legs over the other side. Her feet found gaps between the stones and she cautiously made her way down. She pushed off from the last few feet, landing in a crouch. She misjudged how far it was by a foot or so and the resulting jar through her legs rattled her but she shook it off and stood up.

She turned and, for the first time, grinned broadly. Shire stretched out before her, no walls, no scheming relatives.

She strode forward, more than ready to be done with the place. She would miss Shire, her friends and ballet company but, as Bofur had said, there were other companies. There were other schools too. Not to mention she looked forward to seeing Arwen again. She hadn't seen the other woman since her marriage to Prince Aragorn over year ago though they talked often enough online. She had no doubt they would allow her to stay with them until she could get on her feet.

By the time she made it to one of the main roads she was exhausted. There were few people out and about and little traffic on the roads. The crowd at the palace would probably start dispersing soon and Bilba hurried down a side street, her arms wrapped around her torso as little protection against the cold. She wished she’d taken the time to grab a coat before leaving but there was little to be done for it now.

Many of the stores were closed so late but there were a handful still open and, this close to the palace, they were almost universally all high end, high dollar places. As she passed one, Bilba spotted a floor length, warm looking trench coat in the window.

Bilba felt a slow smile spread across her face and she detoured into the store.

She left a short time later, wearing a steel gray version of the coat with white fur trim along the collar, edges of the sleeves and bottom of the coat. It was double breasted and fitted with a belt sporting an intricately worked silver buckle.

It had occurred to her while she was in the store that, once she reached Gondor, she would most likely simply wait for Bofur to arrive before deciding on a next step. With that in mind she realized she didn’t want to meet him wearing a ratty pair of jeans and a shirt.

Which was why, in addition to the coat, Bilba now sported a brand new pair of dark colored jeans, a russet colored sweater, new belt and a pair of knee high black boots with a short practical heel. The coat swirled around her ankles as she walked and she tried to pretend she was in one of the fashion shoots Beatrice was always doing, strutting down a lit catwalk to the flash of cameras and an adoring crowd.

Not that she was as attractive as Beatrice of course as the other girl was so fond of pointing out. Still, she would do it just to get to wear pretty clothes.

She’d have to remember to thank Beatrice for the new outfit she’d inadvertently paid for later, after she’d arrived safely in Gondor of course.

There was little Bilba could do about her hair but she’d taken it out of the ponytail and fluffed it as much as possible before trying to arrange it somewhat on her shoulders.

As she strolled down the sidewalk she couldn’t help adding a little skip to her step. It felt as though an enormous weight were slowly lifting off her shoulders with every step she took away from the palace.

She ended up hailing a cab to get her to the airport. It was lucky for her that the capitol was such a popular tourist destination for residents of Shire. Cabs could be found on almost every corner.

Once in the cab she sat on the edge of the seat, her fingers drumming anxiously on her knees.

The phone in her pocket rang suddenly and she jerked, her eyes flashing to the driver for an instant as if he could tell she’d stolen the phone from her cousin just by the sound.

She fished it out, fingers brushing for an instant against the ring she’d transferred into her new pants, and pulled it out. She didn’t recognize the caller ID so she ignored it, putting the phone on vibrate and sliding it back in her pocket.

It went off again a few minutes later and again a few minutes after that. Each time Bilba felt her grip tighten on her knees.

They knew she wasn’t in the palace anymore and had guessed she had Beatrice’s phone.

Her good mood drained slowly until, by the time they reached the airport, she was nearly sick with stress and anxiety.

Shire International was large and sprawling, almost approaching the size of the palace. Even so late it was bustling with groups of people rushing here and there in an attempt to get to their plane on time. Through the chain link fence surrounding it Bilba caught sight of the runways and planes taxiing into position. One was in the process of taking off and, as it did, Bilba saw an enormous jet parked at the end of the runway reserved for use by the royal family or visiting dignitaries.

Her gut churned. It was Prince Thorin’s jet, and the sight of it brought everything she was running from, and all she had to lose if she failed, back into sharp relief. She tore her eyes away and focused on the glass doors ahead of her, trying to set her mind to what awaited her, not what lay behind.

Bilba paid the driver with the credit card and then ran inside. She darted between people and dodged luggage, struggling to get to the large sign that directed her to the International Terminal.

A smaller sign under it directed her to the counter to buy a ticket. The woman at the front of the line was just finishing up and there were several behind her, a number of them holding the green folders that contained their passports.

Passports.

Her passport…which was back in her apartment…hours away…in a drawer…where she’d left it after her last vacation trip to Rohan.

It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. Bilba actually staggered, her hand going out to catch at the wall.

A man walking by frowned. “Miss, are you alright?”

Bilba gave him a shaky grin, waving him off. “I’m fine, just a little tired. Thank you.”

She spotted a short, empty bench nearby and managed to make her way to it. Her body felt unnaturally heavy and stiff and she fell on the seat more than sat. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps and she felt hot and flushed.

She fished the phone out with a hand that trembled and dialed Bofur’s number.

It rang and then picked up almost immediately.

“Bofur?” Bilba said.

“Princess,” an unfamiliar voice stated in a flat monotone, “we’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

Cold, she felt cold. “Who is this?” Bilba ordered, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. “Where’s Bofur?”

“Your ‘friend’ has been detained.”

“What?” Bilba gasped, “Why? On what charge?”

“Conspiracy to kidnap you, Princess. The charges carry an added charge of treason.”

Treason.

Treason was an automatic death sentence.

A wave of dizziness assailed her and Bilba swayed where she sat. Black spots danced across her vision and she shut her eyes a moment until the feeling passed.

“Ok,” she said. Her throat felt like parchment and she struggled to swallow. “Ok, you win. Just…just let him go alright? Let him go.”

“I have no control over that,” the unfamiliar voice said. “You’d have to discuss that with your grandfather, Princess.”

Bilba hung up. She put her hand in her lap, curling the other one around it. A family hurried past her, kids chattering excitedly as the harried parents struggled to keep them together.

A few yards away from them a young couple said their good-byes, their hands clasped together. The woman gazed at him in adoration; the look he returned suggested she was all that existed in his world.

Others passed; men in expensive suits and women in flowing dresses, children skipping with excitement while others cried from exhaustion.

Bilba remembered the crowds outside the palace grounds and wondered how many had come for the wedding.

None of them gave her a second look as they passed; she’d done an excellent job staying, or being kept, out of the limelight. She personally believed many had probably forgotten she even existed.

All that would change as soon as the Thain released the video of the wedding to the media.

She liked to pretend she was normal, that she was just like everyone else.

She wasn’t.

She was Bilba Baggins, Princess of Shire, granddaughter to the conniving and manipulative Thain. Now her playacting like she was anything else had dragged Bofur straight into the crosshairs.

Sweet, innocent, wonderful Bofur who would have lived an amazing life and achieved everything he’d ever dreamed of…if he simply hadn’t met her.

She slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out the ring, holding it in one hand. Her other hand still held Beatrice’s phone, the diamonds winking in the dim light of the airport.

The Thain would have never given Bilba a phone like that.

He never would have forced Beatrice into a marriage.

Bilba didn’t want to be anything like Beatrice but there was one thing she had to admit her cousin possessed that Bilba did not.

A backbone.

Beatrice got what she wanted. She didn’t run at the first opportunity, didn’t back down when the Thain demanded things be done his way.

Bilba had never really felt the urge to demand anything. She’d just wanted to be left alone.

But, now…now the Thain had gone after Bofur.

Something inside her hardened and, in a single quick move, Bilba slid the ring back on her finger.

She stood up, her back rigid and dialed a number. When she spoke her voice was calm and neutral, showing no sign of the light tremble that was running through her body or the way her free hand was clenched into a fist. A few moments later a limo was on its way from the palace to pick her up.

Bilba took one final look at the airport, at the rushing, happy, _normal_ people.

Then she turned and strode out of the airport, leaving them all behind.

She didn’t look back.

 

***

 

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?”

Dwalin smirked. “You should be happy. We’d still be wandering if you hadn’t found someone to ask for directions.”

Thorin ignored him.

After losing a pair of ceremonial battle axes, two swords and one of his favorite daggers to Dwalin, Thorin had finally called it quits and decided he wanted to eat.

He’d been convinced he remembered where the kitchens were from one of the tours he’d been on, but every corner he turned seemed to lead to another dead end.

Dwalin was no help. Thorin had no doubt the other man had memorized the palace layout already but he took great joy in watching Thorin try to find his own way.

Disloyal bastard.

A number of servants had offered to bring a tray to his rooms but, by that time, it was a matter of personal pride to find the blasted kitchen on his own.

Finally, after a ridiculous amount of time that had Thorin convinced the palace was purposefully laid out in a maze formation, they found one of the two grand staircases that led to the main floor.

According to the last servant he’d talked to there should be a door down there somewhere that led to the kitchens.

Thorin had barely made it halfway down the stairs when the main doors to the palace flew open. Dwalin gripped his arm, his own body moving slightly in front of Thorin’s.

A group of four Shire guards marched in, their green and brown uniforms matching the wood and marbles in the foyer.

The woman they escorted in the midst of them was stunning.

She was small and petite with curves he could see even under the heavy, buttoned up trench coat she wore. Her hair, the color of a brilliant topaz, swung nearly to her waist and possessed a curl that caused it to bounce about her as she walked. She walked with a natural grace and held herself with perfect poise.

“Huh,” Dwalin said, “haven’t seen any like her here.”

Thorin elbowed him in the side. “Don’t let Ori hear you say that.”

Dwalin snorted. “I said here, didn’t I? She ain’t got nothing on my Ori.”

The guards had turned toward them which meant the woman was now walking toward them as well. She moved with her back straight and her head held high.

Her eyes were fixed straight ahead and, as she began to move up the stairs, he was startled to see they were like two amethysts brought to life.

Dwalin moved to the other side of the staircase, giving them room to pass. As they did Thorin saw her eyes flicker briefly to his and away again. Her face held no reaction at all; he could have been a statue for all she reacted to his presence.

Her eyes went past him and he saw them widen fractionally, making her appear younger. She came to a stop, barely a step or two below where he was.

Thorin followed her gaze and saw Beatrice storming down the stairs, her face nearly apoplectic with rage. As she neared she was already lifting a hand and swinging it at the young woman’s face.

Dwalin tensed but Thorin was already acting. His hand shot out to grab Beatrice’s wrist before it could connect with its target.

Beatrice didn’t acknowledge him. She wrenched her arm free and put her palm out. “Give it back, now.”

The woman rolled her eyes and reached her hand into a pocket of her coat, coming out with a cell phone that she handed off to Beatrice.

“Oh, relax,” she said softly, “it’s not as though you couldn’t have had it replaced within a few hours.”

Beatrice hesitated, as though she hadn't expected that response. She snatched the phone away finally but Thorin barely noticed, his attention fixed on the woman.

Her voice. It had been soft and lilting, with the slightest smoky quality to it…and he’d heard it before. Only once and only for a second but…

“Bilba?”

Her eyes caught on his, the look in them vaguely defiant.

Beatrice stepped forward and grabbed her arm suddenly, dragging her forward.

“Bilba,” she hissed, “you know better than this. You can’t keep running off to go party every night, you’re married now!”

Bilba, his _wife_ , simply looked at Beatrice with that same unreadable expression. “You’re one to talk,” she said mildly.

Beatrice's eyes widened and she gaped at the other woman. Bilba shook the arm off and brushed past her, dismissive. Her eyes went to Thorin’s again for just a brief second and he found himself wishing he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

Then she was past him, the guards following her, leaving him behind with Dwalin and Beatrice.

Beatrice was clearly not finished as she followed after her, yelling. Thorin heard something about a destroyed room and a stolen credit card before the entire group vanished around a corner and the voices faded down the hall.

Thorin looked at Dwalin who was mouthing the words “buckets of crazy” to him while making motions with his hands.

Thorin scowled. “Shut up.”

He started down the stairs again, though his appetite was gone.

He should have known. Given the treatment already it made perfect sense the Thain would saddle him with a no doubt vain, shallow, potentially unstable, immature woman with a disturbing lack of honor.

Fury began to mount once more and he found himself grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

He didn’t care what she was allowed to get away with in Shire; things would be different in Erebor.

If she thought otherwise she was in for a shock.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in action! :D

Beatrice stormed off toward her room and Bilba sighed, shoulders relaxing minutely. The other woman’s shrill voice had been giving her a headache and she feared she may have suffered permanent hearing loss.  

She expected to be taken to her grandfather’s office but, to her surprise, she was steered in the exact opposite direction.

“What are you doing?” she questioned one of the guards. “I thought my grandfather wanted to see me?"

"The Thain has better things to do than deal with your tantrum," the man replied coldly. "He'll deal with you in the morning."

Of course he would, Bilba thought bitterly. Seeing her at once would imply an importance, or at least significance, he would never dream of bestowing on her. He already had his night planned, parties to celebrate the alliance no doubt. She hadn't been invited and could just imagine the excuses her grandfather would give to explain her absence.

Or Prince Thorin's. She thought back to the glimpse she'd had of him on the stairs before the guards had rushed her past, noting he'd lost his jacket and tie and had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Clearly, he hadn't any intention of going anywhere, and certainly hadn't expected to run into her judging by the surprise she'd seen on his face. He'd stopped Beatrice from slapping her, but she had a feeling it had been more instinct than a deliberate desire to protect _her_. As far as he knew, she represented everything he'd lost. He'd be the last person on the planet she'd expect to ever be on her side.

They rounded a corner and, with a start, she realized where they were headed. Fear slammed into her, erasing the anger in an instant, and a strangled sound escaped her throat. She set her heels but the guards had anticipated it and simply grabbed her arms and dragged her forward.

"Wait," she managed to stammer. "Wait!" She wanted to say more, but the words refused to pass her lips, panic robbing her of anything but her most basic vocabulary skills.

A wooden door was set into the end of the hall and one of the guards reached forward to open it, other hand still clamped around her upper arm in a grip sure to leave a bruise. A darkened staircase was revealed and they shoved her toward it. It was so steep they were forced to go single file and so narrow she could touch the walls on either side by raising her arms just to her waist. She did so, trying to keep her balance at the extreme slant of the steps. They were old and worn, holdovers from a different age. Some had bits missing, while others wobbled threateningly when she put her foot down, the slab broken into separate pieces barely held in place by the steps above and below them.

The walls were comprised of the same cinderblock as the rest of the palace but had never been covered with the expensive stucco her grandfather preferred. They were porous and gritty, the texture rough under her fingers as she ascended. Cheap lights had been set into the wall at some point, barely strong enough to gut the darkness, let alone show her where she was going.

Not that she didn't already know. With every step her heart seemed to plummet lower and the ice in her veins grew colder. The temperature in the stairwell began to fall to match, slowly but soon so low she could see her breath fogging in the dull spots of light along the wall. Her grandfather hadn't bothered to put even basic amenities up here, because comfort was the exact opposite of the point.

They reached the top finally, a small landing set before a thick wooden door with a heavy padlock. Bilba held still as the guard in front of her unlocked it. She didn't plead or beg, or ask for her grandfather. It had never made a bit of difference in the past and certainly wouldn't now.

The door opened with a screech that haunted her nightmares and she tensed, waiting for them to demand her shoes and coat before they sent her in. To her surprise, they didn't, the guard at the door simply indicating for her to go inside.

Bilba gave a short nod that she hoped looked composed, and stepped through the portal to the darkness beyond. The door slammed shut, sound loud in the small space, and she jumped, an involuntary gasp escaping.

Then the guards were leaving and she was alone, in darkness so total it nearly hurt as her eyes strained for light, and a silence so heavy it almost buckled her knees. She clenched her hand in and out of a fist, the pricks of her nails on her palm reminding her that her senses hadn't failed her entirely. She took a slow breath and blinked rapidly at the sting in her eyes.

She was not going to cry.

After a few minutes, she had regained sufficient control to put her hand out and carefully feel for the wall. It didn't take long, the entire room was less than a dozen paces in any direction, round, and completely empty. If asked, she could recount how many stones were in the floor as well as how many were in the walls, at least up to where she'd been able to reach at any given age.

Her fingers brushed against cold brick and she turned around, pressing against it and letting herself lower gently until she was seated. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. There was no point in trying to escape, the place was old but sound and the scars on her fingers were testament to the sturdiness of the door.

She heaved a choked sigh and leaned back until her head hit the wall behind her with a thunk. An old, familiar fear began to uncoil at the base of her spine and she clenched her jaw, lightly knocking her head against the stone as she tried to overcome it. It wasn't the same, she told herself firmly. There was no way they could forget her again, not this time. Her grandfather was an attention hound; all the media stations were probably on standby waiting for interviews once the sun rose. She'd be expected to be there, and to travel to Erebor after. The world couldn't just overlook her this time, her absence would be noticed.

The acrid taste of bile flooded her mouth and she leaned forward to bury her face on her knees, wrapping her arms around them. She wasn't giving in. She knew what this was, her grandfather attempting to mellow her, burn out the streak of defiance she'd suddenly sprouted. He'd done it in the past and it had worked, but it wasn't working this time. Not when he was threatening her friends, and Bofur.

Bofur. Was he locked up like she was? In darkness and silence, all alone without even a sense of time passing to keep him company? She shook her head, trying to clear the image of someone so exuberant and full of life locked away in the dark. Not for long, she vowed. She lifted her head and took another breath, settling herself, before shutting her eyes to focus.

It was going to backfire on her grandfather this time, she decided. The eyes of the country were on her. She'd be expected to do interviews before going to Erebor, to play the part of the blushing bride and excited granddaughter. An idea began to slowly form and Bilba felt the slightest beginnings of a smile starting. Her grandfather may have sacrificed her to his own greed but, in doing so, he'd inadvertently given her the one thing he'd always withheld in the past.

Power.

He may have decided to use her in his political game but if he thought she was going to play the dutiful pawn then he had a big surprise coming.

***

Thorin was in a poor mood.

He'd been awakened by servants some hours earlier and informed he had a full day worth of press junkets ahead of him. The fact he hadn't been told beforehand had rankled but he'd grit his teeth and obediently gotten up, showered and dressed. He'd already decided on his course of action before arriving in Shire: shut up, get through it and go home.

Breakfast was brought to him but he barely touched it, opting instead to simply go and get it all over with. He hated interviews and the thought of having to spend a day doing nothing but ranked a little lower than having a root canal, without anesthetic, on his list of fun things to do.

He'd been taken by a servant to a large room on the ground floor of the palace. It was as garishly ostentatious as the others he'd seen, filled to bursting with all manner of furniture, plush rugs, and large paintings depicting the various members of the royal family. He didn't see any of Bilba but, going by how much she seemed to disdain the public eye, it wasn't all that much of a surprise.

He hadn't seen any media on his way out but, through a large door on the far side of the room, he could hear the familiar noise of a large crowd of people.

An area had been set up in the center of the room, an enormous rug featuring the seal of Shire. Three seats were set up, two at angles on the corners of the rug and then a chair, that could easily pass for a throne, smack in the middle. An empty space was in front of the setup, with plenty of room for cameras and sound equipment.

He was directed to sit on the seat to the left and obeyed, startling slightly when he sank farther than he'd expected. The chair was far too short for his height, he quickly realized, forcing his legs up higher than was natural and creating an awkward look. It also put him lower than the eyeline of the person who would be sitting in the center chair. Eyes narrowed, Thorin shot an annoyed look at Dwalin who was leaning back against a nearby wall. The other man shrugged and folded his arms across his chest as if to say, just get through it.

Thorin glowered. He had no desire to get through it, and every wish to simply get out. He'd already made plans to fly out later that day. It skirted the boundaries of etiquette but his father had backed him up by insisting Thorin had important duties that would not wait, which was true, and it would be impossible to find anyone else capable of filling in, not quite as true but close enough. He'd hoped that, by leaving so quickly, he could avoid all this nonsense but he'd clearly underestimated the Thain's resourcefulness, or desire for the spotlight.

The door he'd come through opened again and he tensed as Princess Bilba was escorted through. On his finger the ring, that had been a bear to locate and put back on before leaving his room, seemed to almost grow physically heavier. He'd almost managed to forget about the marriage during the brief few hours of sleep he'd gotten, but it'd come roaring back with a vengeance once he'd been awake.

Bilba looked to have slept about as much as he had. Her face was pale and her makeup didn't entirely hide the bags under her eyes. She wore a long sleeved silver gown with a spilt skirt and dark purple underskirt. The bodice was decorated in diamonds set out in the pattern of the Shire crest, the jewels matching the ones at her throat, ears, and scattered through the elaborate hairstyle that must have taken an age to create.

She looked every bit as stunning as she had the night before, despite her obvious fatigue. She didn't look at him as she was led to the chair on the far side of the rug and motioned to sit. She wobbled as she did, a hand going out to catch the arm of the chair. As she settled one hand went to her forehead to massage her temple and Thorin grimaced. He hadn't noticed any odor of alcohol about her when he'd seen her on the stairs but all signs now certainly seemed to point to quite the hangover. This whole thing just kept getting better and better. Getting saddled with someone like Beatrice was suddenly beginning to seem preferable to being stuck with what was quickly starting to look like an immature party girl. The small amount of information he'd collected on her had said she attended college, a fact he'd seen as a small positive, but now he wondered if she even bothered to go to class or simply frittered away her country's money the same way he'd seen her grandfather and other relatives do. He shot another look at her but she continued to ignore him, her back straight, hands clasped in her lap and eyes fixed on nothing. She was the definition of a proper princess, if one didn't look too closely, and if she could manage to stop swaying slightly as she was currently doing.

The door opened a third time and the Thain strode in, so heavily decked out in regalia it was a wonder he could stand. Despite his intense dislike of the man and his greed, Thorin couldn't help but be impressed. The king of the Shire was in his eighties but carried himself, and looked, like a man far younger. Thorin suspected surgery had a lot to do with the latter but it was still impressive.

Bilba stood up from her seat and he followed suit, both standing at attention as the king of the Shire settled into his chair in the middle. He gestured for them to sit again and then made an impatient gesture toward one of the servants. The door, behind which all the noise could be heard, was opened and the first reporters were allowed in.

Thorin took a deep breath, shooting one more look toward Dwalin, and then went into Crown Prince mode, with an easy, fake smile plastered firmly to his face.

The Thain wasn't the only one capable of putting on a show.

***

Bilba thought it quite possible she might pass out.

It was one thing to defy her grandfather behind his back, or come up with a plan to defy him while locked in a tower overnight with little but her own thoughts to keep her company.

It was another thing entirely to openly defy him to his face, and in public. She could admit to herself that a large portion of her courage came from the fact she would be leaving for Erebor and be out of his reach, and her friends would not. It wasn't an exaggeration to say he terrified her, and he wanted it that way. To the public he was eccentric, and tended to spoil his children and relations, but well respected and thought highly of. He spent obscene amounts of money on his public image to make sure of it.

To his family, he was a bankroll and a granter of wishes, buying their loyalty through lavish gifts and overindulgence.

To Bilba, he'd never bothered with either mask and had never attempted to be anything but what he was, evil. He _wanted_ someone to know his behind the scenes manipulations, his carefully crafted destruction of his enemies, the way he moved people about, using them and discarding them, as if they were of little more value than a pawn on a chessboard. He would stand back and watch as people he'd once considered allies, people who considered _him_ an ally slowly crumbled to dust, all the while lamenting their fate as though he'd had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Then he'd turn and she'd see the smirk on his face, directly solely at her as if they shared some horrible secret she wanted no part of.

She'd seen what he'd done to her mother for eloping with her father. Bilba, herself, had experienced being locked away for nothing more than being seen at the wrong time or, once, for refusing to cut off her hair and give it to Beatrice when the other girl had decided she'd like to make a wig from it. It had been cut off anyway, and the public informed she'd foolishly tried to give herself a haircut. She'd been fourteen.

Regardless, she knew firsthand the wrath her grandfather could bring to bear for the slightest perceived insult and here she was about to turn on him in a way no one had ever dared. A flush of heat raced through her and a wave of dizziness brought black spots to her eyes. She swayed, barely, on the chair and clenched her hands in her lap.

Bofur, she reminded herself firmly, and Rosie and all her other friends and teachers and people she'd had contact with over the years. She would be leaving for Erebor, past the easy reach of her grandfather, they would not. She couldn't very well ask them all to pack up and move out of the country, which meant the only option available to her was ensuring their safety after she was gone.

And the only way to do that was to defy her grandfather.

In front of them, the crew finished setting up, the slender, blonde reporter smiling brightly as she started speaking to the camera to set up her shot.

Bilba swallowed and tightened her hands in her lap still further until the knuckles were bloodless. She could hear the low murmur of the other reporters out in the hall but this was the one she was interested in, representatives from the biggest network in Shire. They had a massive audience, undoubtedly made even larger by being the first to air. Once they were done and people had gotten their royal fix they would start to trickle away, numbers dwindling as more reporters came in to ask many of the same questions repeatedly.

The reporter turned to face them and Bilba plastered a fake smile on her face, back straight and hands hopefully appearing to be clasped demurely in her lap. Her knuckles were still white and she wished she'd thought to wear gloves.

Her grandfather was talking, answering questions for the reporter whose name Bilba hadn't caught, if it'd even been given. Dimly she was aware of her grandfather talking about the greatness of the alliance and what Shire stood to gain, easily skirting the question of what Erebor would be gaining outside of an unwanted marriage and what amounted to a leeching relative.

The questions turned to Thorin next and, like any properly trained royal, he easily answered every question without giving any real answers at all. Everything was a general this or that, or deliberately vague but coached in such a way that it appeared to have far more substance than it did. Bilba would have expected nothing less from the Heir of a country like Erebor. The kingdom prided itself on its honor and she'd heard that, even in exile, the Durins had behaved so flawlessly like the royals they were that one could easily forget they weren't currently the leaders of anything.

"And what did you think of your bride the first time you met her?" the reporter asked and Bilba stiffened, wondering if Thorin would admit he'd never met her before the ceremony. Technically, he still hadn't met her given they hadn't exchanged so much as a single word to one another.

A small smile graced Thorin's lips and he settled back against the seat, lifting one leg to rest his foot on his knee. "I believe I'd like to keep that private, if you don't mind."

Bilba resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She just bet he would. The reporter flushed, clearly interpreting his words as somehow romantic, and then turned to Bilba. "And what about you, your Highness? What did you think of the Prince when you first saw him?"

"That he was tall," Bilba said, her mind going blank as it fumbled for words. Immediately she felt her face heat at the inane, and rather shallow, words but there was no taking them back. It wasn't as if she had any experience, or training with this sort of thing, she thought in irritation.

"I see." The reporter frowned, seeming to consider something, and Bilba felt her heart drop. It was never a good thing when they paused like that when interviewing Beatrice. "And, I wonder, Princess, what did your boyfriend think of the Prince?"

Bilba gave no reaction through sheer force of will. To be honest, the question shouldn't really have come as that much of a surprise. Her grandfather was manipulative and conniving but he also had the tendency to follow spur of the moment decisions without giving them much thought. The fact she'd already been enrolled in the current term at university, and seeing someone, wasn't exactly a secret and any decent reporter would have found out about it with the bare minimum of checking.

There was silence for a moment and Bilba realized, unsurprisingly, that her grandfather was expecting her to take the fall for this piece of information.

"As you know," she said, keeping her tone carefully modulated, even as her mind worked fast, "my grandfather has always had a strong focus on security and privacy." More like paranoia to the point of irrationality but whatever. "He worried over any possible threats to my safety and insisted I stay enrolled in college as normal to avoid anyone realizing which Princess would be taking part in the alliance." She shifted on the couch, trying subtlety to copy the relaxed stance Thorin was holding without being obvious, and without the crossed leg of course given the dress she was wearing. "Bofur was also part of the--" she hesitated, unable to bring herself to call her relationship with Bofur a lie.

"Subterfuge?" the reporter asked, and Bilba smiled in relief. The other woman frowned. "And you never developed any feelings for this young man? Some of the reports we had were..."

"If it didn't look real then what would be the point?" Bilba asked smoothly. Her smile widened even as her hands tightened to the point of breaking bones. This was exactly the opening she'd been waiting for and she had to take it before it closed, no matter how much it terrified her. "Bofur was a young man who worked for a local theater company." The sharp pain from all that she was losing came again but she forged on, focusing on the reporter and trying to pretend her grandfather wasn't in the room. "He was struggling to fund both his education and acting career and jumped at the job opportunity when it was offered."

The reporter raised an eyebrow and, beside her, Bilba saw her grandfather adjust his position, leaning forward enough to appear in the corner of her vision.

"Oh, yes," she said, forging ahead, in answer to the reporter's unasked question. "In return for his trouble, his entire education was covered." She nearly named an amount but hesitated, worried it'd cause more trouble than help for Bofur, not to mention how insulted he'd be at the very thought of being paid to go out with her. She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. "A large donation will also be made to both the university and the theater company I was with."

"That's very generous," the reporter started to say, only to stop as Bilba cut her off.

"It is, isn't it?" She was sure she'd moved past abject terror a few minutes earlier and entered into a state of what she would define as catatonic awareness. The money for Bofur, the university and the company were all vital as it would ensure the eyes of the media were on them. Bofur would have to be released because the world would want to hear from him. Likewise, it'd be difficult for her grandfather to move against any of her friends or teachers now, after she left, for fear of unwanted questions by the media as to what had happened.

She'd brought everyone and everything he'd threatened into the light, protecting them as best she could in the process.

What she had just done had been necessary.

What she was about to do was born purely from spite.

"As a show of just how generous he is, my grandfather has also informed me that he will be giving me full control of the dowry left to me by my late parents. Originally, I wasn't going to have it until my 21st birthday but my grandfather has graciously decided to grant my access to the one hundred thousand early."

Dead silence. The reporter looked surprised. "I wasn't aware the late Duke and Duchess of Hobbiton had been that well off at the end of their life."

They hadn't been, thanks to her grandfather. Even if her parents had been able to leave her a dowry, small as it would have been, her grandfather would have long ago spent it. The dowry she was claiming, in reality, had been one set up for her mother by her grandmother. Bilba had never met the woman but, from what she'd heard, her grandmother had been nothing like her husband. The marriage had been arranged and she'd made the best of it, including ensuring that her children would be taken care of upon their own marriages. Her wish had been for Belladonna to receive the money no matter what, but the Thain had ignored his dead wife's wishes and kept it. Now Bilba was getting it back, with interest and a good chunk that she had mentally labeled irritation costs. She'd briefly considered asking for a much higher amount but, given her grandfather's near obsession with money, had decided to settle for the smaller amount in what, probably, was a misguided hope it would lessen his ire somewhat.

"My grandfather has also given me a week in which to prepare before leaving for Erebor," she continued, ignoring the reporter's comment. She'd struggled on the amount of time. If she had her way she'd never leave, but she knew that wasn't feasible. She also knew that, after what she'd just done, the longer she stayed the greater the threat her grandfather would move against her, consequences be damned.

The reporter turned away from her, to where Thorin was seated. Bilba kept her eyes fixed on where her hands rested in her lap. She had no idea how he or her grandfather had reacted, didn't much care about the first, and could well imagine the second.

"And what about you, your Highness? Do you plan to stay the week as well?"

"No," Thorin said, his voice as flat and unaffected as ever. "I'm afraid my duties will be taking me back to Erebor at the end of the day in fact. I've been gone too long already."

One less problem she'd have to deal with, Bilba thought with a mild flash of relief. She had enough on her plate already. One week to try and ensure the safety of her friends as much as humanly possible, as well as try to work out with her college what credits she could hopefully transfer over to Erebor. She had no idea what colleges they had or where but she had no intention of giving up her education if she could possibly help it.

Thorin's answer caught the reporter's attention and she went back to questioning him again. As she did, her voice seemed to fade away to a low murmur in the background. Bilba's world telescoped down to where her hands and she forced herself to take slow, even breaths.

She was startled at how easily the lies had rolled off her tongue but supposed, in hindsight, perhaps it wasn't that odd after all. She'd spent most of her childhood lying after her parents had died. To the media the rare times when she was forced to do interviews and had to insist she was well treated. To the small number of friends she'd had in the various boarding schools. Most of all, to herself that there was some key, some combination of actions that, if she could just find it, would result in her family, and even grandfather, accepting her. That last one she'd come to terms with, for the most part. She knew her grandfather and the rest of her family would never love her, but couldn't help the occasional flickers that tried to convince her that the key existed, she just hadn't found it yet.

The interviews went on. The first reporter left and the second, representing a different station, was dutifully led in. After that came a third one and then a fourth and fifth. The questions blended together and her face started to hurt from forcing it into a facsimile of a smile. Word of what Bilba had said in the first interview leaked out, as such things were prone to do, and she was asked about it in just about every subsequent interview.

She reiterated what she'd said, carefully ignoring her grandfather every time, and added the invitation for the news crews to follow her about during her week if they wished. The more public she was, the safer.

They took a break for lunch finally, the reporters shown out with their equipment. Thorin got up to speak to the intimidating giant of a man who'd been leaning against the wall glowering the whole morning. Servants came in from another room to set up a table and food, buffet style, and Bilba went to get a plate. A large set of ornately styled glass doors on the back wall led to a massive balcony and she headed toward it.

She felt a weight lift off her the second she pushed the doors open and felt the fresh air and the warmth of the sun. She wondered absently what the weather in Erebor was like but put it aside, choosing to ignore her impending departure for the time being. She stepped through, crossing to set her plate on a small table before going to lean on the ledge. The balcony overlooked the vast gardens decorating the front lawn of the palace. In the distance, she could see the front gate and, through it, the remnants of the crowds that must have dominated it the night before.

It was too far to see if Rosie was there. Bilba hoped her friend had gone back to school. The other girl had gone into debt to buy the plane ticket, and skipped class to go, her plane departing sometime after Bilba's first classes. Bilba had been invited to go but she'd refused, citing she spent most of her time staying away from the palace and had no desire to spend money going there. She wished now she'd said yes as it was highly likely her grandfather's goons would have missed her. Maybe she could have escaped then, or thwarted his plans at the very least. She wondered how bad her luck must be that being a conscientious student was what had done her in.

A footstep scraped against the stone behind her and she closed her eyes a moment. Then, steeling herself, she stood and turned to face her grandfather. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing she could say, and really nothing he needed to say. She'd always been little more than a nuisance to him, an afterthought or an unwilling audience to his schemes.

"Why weren't you in the car?" he asked suddenly, tilting his head to one side slightly.

Bilba frowned in confusion. "What?"

"It was a Thursday night," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. "You always went to the movies on Thursdays, didn't you? A happy little family gathering." His voice was downright glacial, and his eyes flat, an expression and tone she doubted many others had seen.

Memory crashed in, and her own eyes widened even as her heart jolted in her chest. The reaction was too quick for her to hide and she saw the satisfied smirk on his face as power shifted back in his direction.

"I had a sleepover," Bilba said slowly. "It was her birthday. Mom and Dad said it was okay."

"Pity," the Thain said, and Bilba flinched as if physically struck. She had been hit a handful of times over the years, usually by Beatrice or one of her other cousins, by an aunt once or twice and, rarely, very rarely, by her grandfather. He was usually far too controlled for it, preferring words, and behind the scenes actions he could disavow knowledge of, to hands on violence. "You were supposed to be there."

"Sorry to disappoint," Bilba managed to whisper through a tight throat. A suspicion, long held and even longer ignored, tried to surface but she pushed it back down again. It wasn't something she could live with if true, or do anything about, and acknowledging it wouldn't change a single second of the past.

Her grandfather grunted and then turned to leave, clearly satisfied he'd made his point.

"You'll need to let me see Bofur," Bilba blurted, crossing her arms tightly as the air seemed to grow colder. "I'll need to convince him to play along, and he'll never listen to you." Her grandfather would have to resort to other methods to gain Bofur's compliance and that would lead to a whole host of problems when the news crews came to interview him.

Her grandfather paused and Bilba tensed, every nerve on edge. Then he started walking again and she sagged back against the ledge with a gasp.

Her eyes went to the plate of food she'd left on the table and she grimaced, appetite gone. She'd gotten what she wanted but, in the process, she knew one inescapable truth. She'd taken herself firmly off her grandfather's proverbial chess board and taken up a space squarely on the opposing side.

And, in doing so, she'd made one hell of an enemy.

***

"You know, if you want to get technical about it, that dowry should be going to Erebor."

Thorin snorted in derision. He was leaning against the wall where Dwalin had taken up residence, both of them holding small plates of food from the buffet table. Thorin had little desire to eat but imagined it would probably be his last opportunity before boarding his jet home later that evening.

"There's no dowry," he said, keeping his voice low. "You saw the look on his face. She played him."

"Which raises another question," Dwalin mused. "What does she want with that much money and an extra week? It isn't as if this came as a surprise to her, she's had plenty of time to make arrangements."

"Perhaps she just wants one final party with her friends before leaving," Thorin said in annoyance.  He was becoming more and more convinced Erebor had been saddled with an irresponsible and immature girl who hadn't yet realized she'd entered adulthood. "She probably needed pin money."

Dwalin gave him a look. "A hundred thousand is what she considers pin money?" He frowned. "You know they're going to want to interview her back in Erebor, once she arrives."

"She won't pull the same trick twice," Thorin predicted. Giving up on his appetite, he set his plate down on a nearby table and crossed his arms, turning more fully to the side and bracing a shoulder against the wall. "If she's anything like the Thain then public image is important. Pulling the same stunt multiple times runs the risk of people realizing what's going on. She'll try something else."

"Like what?" Dwalin asked.

Thorin shrugged. "Guess we'll find out."

He could well imagine a number of scenarios, anything from outright tantrums to false simpering and tears. His phone buzzed suddenly in his back pocket and he reached for it with a frown. His sister's picture appeared on the screen with her name blazoned across it. She was smiling in the photo but he doubted her current expression matched it. She'd been trying to call him since the night before and he'd been ignoring her. Aside from Kyra, who he felt deserved an answer no matter what, he'd ignored all calls.

"You don't answer that, your bride won't be the only one throwing a tantrum," Dwalin said dryly.

"I know." Thorin muttered. He swiped the answer button and held it up to his ear, turning away for some semblance of privacy. His eyes fell on an elaborate clock mounted on the wall and he suppressed a sigh at how many hours were still left in the day.

Evening couldn't come soon enough.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin left that evening, as promised.

Bilba wasn't there to see him off. As soon as the interviews were over she was escorted back to the tower. She could just imagine how the news, in both Erebor and Shire, would report her mysterious absence at her newly minted husband's departure.  

No doubt her grandfather's intent.

The Thain left her locked away as long as he dared without raising suspicion, which meant she was let out the next morning. Servants rushed her through a bath and into a light sundress that was a poor cut and entirely wrong for her coloring, before dragging her hair into a far too tight chignon and taking her down to meet a car. There was no mention of breakfast and she didn't ask.

A single guard met her in the front hall and, as he escorted her through the doors, Bilba let out a hiss as what felt like a million camera flashes went off in her face. The media was generally kept outside the gate but now they were clustered around the waiting limo.

The entrance to the palace was designed like that of a massive hotel with a large archway and a paved stretch that allowed guests and visiting dignitaries to be let off or picked up at the large, carved wooden doors. The walk to the car was only a few feet but now, with a crush of reporters closing around her and questions bombarding her from every side, it felt like a mile.

"Your Highness! Is it true you didn't see Prince Thorin off because you were at a party?"

"Your Highness! Is it true you slighted the Prince because you feel his previous status as an exile places him below your station?"

The crowd pressed in around her, the limo vanishing behind a crush of bodies, and she tensed. The guard grabbed her arm in a bruising grip that brought a spike of pain through the bruise she had from being grabbed like that the day before, and began to push through the crowd. The constant flashes of light left her with spots in her vision and she stumbled, unable to do much more than let the guard force her in what she hoped was the right direction.

"Your Highness! We have witnesses who claim your relationship with Bofur went well past subterfuge, care to comment?"

The words felt like they were shouted directly in her ear and Bilba flinched as her eardrums buzzed from the sensory overload. The guard let go of her arm to try and bulldoze through the crowd so she pressed her hands over her ears and resisted the urge to shut her eyes as the reporters crushed closer. It was difficult to breathe and she could feel a dozen or more bruises forming under the constant stabbing of camera equipment and bony joints shoving against her arms, sides and legs.

She was half convinced they weren't moving, and that her grandfather planned to have her not so tragically killed by the crowd, when suddenly she caught a glimpse of the limo door through a gap between two reporters. Nearly frantic, she surged forward, ignoring the shouts of pain as she elbowed several people in her panic and stepped on more than one foot, and grappled for the door handle.

She felt a brief moment of fear at the thought it might be locked but, in a stroke of mercy, it moved under her hand and she pulled as hard as she could. It was nearly impossible with all the bodies around her but, throwing politeness to the wind, she managed to force the door open, slide in, and slam it shut behind her. She slammed her finger on the button to lock the doors and then collapsed against the seat back, gasping for air.

The yelling faded to a dull roar, and the crowd dimmed just a bit behind the tinted glass of the windows. Bilba drew in a shuddering breath and dug her fingers into the leather of the seat as she struggled for control. Her grandfather wasn't trying to kill her, she told herself firmly. Not yet anyway. He wasn't that kind.

The front door slammed and she jumped. Her eyes, which she hadn't realized she'd closed, flew open in time to see the guard slip into the front seat. The car rocked as he got settled and pulled the door shut after him.

"Bet you regret inviting them along now, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Bilba's voice was shaky and she raised a hand to push back a few locks of hair that had escaped her chignon. As she lowered her hand, she paused and held it just above her lap, watching as it trembled wildly. Her eyes burned and she took a deep breath before curling her fingers into a fist and placing her hand very deliberately on her lap.

She'd spilled enough tears thanks to her grandfather. She'd be damned if she let him get to her now.

"You invited them to join you," the man, who she didn't recognize, explained as he pawed through a key ring to find the one he wanted. "They'll be meeting us at the airport to board the plane back to your university."

He left off the "Your Highness" and his tone was borderline rude but Bilba let it alone. She'd never been treated like a princess before, the title little more than an interesting ancestral note as far as she was concerned throughout her childhood. She'd always just been Bilba Baggins, normal girl.

The car started with a jolt and she watched as reporters peeled away from the car, dashing back to their own to, no doubt, to try and beat her to the airport. Bilba watched them go with resignation. She'd hoped they would be her protection against her grandfather for the week. Instead, he'd taken her what she'd meant to be her guard and turned it against her.

She should have known better.

The ride to the airport was brief. Bilba spent the time getting under control and trying to come up with a new plan. She couldn't deal with the press in her face every step of the way. She'd go insane, if she didn't end up in the hospital from being trampled.

The car slowed and she lifted her head to see the gates of the palace's private runway up ahead. It was at the far end of the airport, in a segregated area off limits to the general public. Usually the place was quiet and empty but all Bilba could see were rows of reporters and their camera crews and vehicles all lined up to try and get the perfect shot or chance for an interview. Bilba wondered if her grandfather had even bothered to vet them but decided he probably had. There'd be too many questions if one of them tried to hurt her and it came out no background checks had been done.

Idly she thought back to the image of Prince Thorin striding off his jet and wondered how he dealt with all the press. Almost immediately, the giant man who followed him everywhere he went entered her mind and she realized that was how. That and a truckload of security, none of which she currently had. From what she could tell it was her, her driver, and the reporters. Presumably there was a crew on board the jet but none of them seemed interested in making an appearance as the car pulled to a smooth stop in front of the stairs leading up into the jet.

Almost, at once, the mass of reporters surged forward, all jockeying to be the first to follow her on the plane and, presumably, land a seat next to her. As they moved, Bilba caught sight of the woman she remembered from the day before, from one of the Shire's biggest news stations, the Shire Daily Press. She'd forgotten the woman's name but remembered the ease with which she'd directed her crew to set up once in the room, as well as the way the crowd of reporters at the door had parted to allow her to pass once she'd left.

Even then, the crowd was giving her a respectful space. The woman was of slightly taller than average height, meaning she would tower over Bilba, with a solid build and short, light brown hair. She was dressed in a neat business skirt and matching jacket and, from what Bilba recalled, spoke with a quiet yet firm voice. In addition to that, she had a presence about her that simply seemed to demand respect.

Sliding over to the side of the car closest to the stairs, Bilba opened it and got out quickly. She darted up into the plane before anyone had reached her and nearly bolted into the cockpit, slamming the door behind her.

"You can't be in here during flight, Your Highness," a voice spoke and she frowned at the short, dark haired man in the pilot's seat.

"I'll be happy to leave, if you'd do something for me first." She pressed against the door, hearing a babble of voices outside it. "There's a reporter out there for the Shire Daily Press. Go find her and bring her in here and I'll leave you to your flying thing."

The man didn't seem amused but Bilba simply set herself against the door, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him. Finally, he sighed and pushed up from the chair. "Fine, but you'll need to move so I can get past."

Bilba obeyed, the movement awkward in the tight space, but they got it accomplished. He opened the door and squeezed out, muttering about spoiled princesses as the door clicked shut behind him. Bilba backed up until she was standing between the pilot and co-pilot seat, crossed her arms and chewed on her lip while she waited.

A few minutes later the door opened and the woman in question came in. "Your Highness," she said with a respectful duck of her head. "You wanted to see me?"

Bilba smiled back, trying to keep her expression neutral as best she could. She'd never been given the training her relatives had in royal protocol or politics but seemed to remember it was important to not let people know how she really felt, especially when she wanted something from them. For the first time she found herself feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for what Beatrice probably had to go through on a daily basis, but only the slightest bit. "I remember you from yesterday. I apologize. I'm afraid I've forgotten your name. There were a lot of reporters."

"Lila Bolger," the woman replied. "Please feel free to call me, Lila, Your Highness."

That offer could be genuine friendliness, Bilba thought, or a tactic. Having a princess of Shire, and now Erebor, know her on a first name basis would advance anyone's career.

Bilba stifled a mental sigh, wishing desperately she could turn back the clock to a time where she didn't have to question motivations and intent.

"I seem to have bitten off a bit more than I can chew," she said carefully. "I wondered if you might consider staying at my side and controlling the flow of things a bit in exchange for..." she hesitated before shrugging her shoulder helplessly and ending with, "well, staying at my side I suppose. You'd have first rights to everything during the next week."

The look on the other woman's face turned downright predatory. "I had wondered what you were thinking when the palace announced you'd decided you didn't need security. I would be honored, Your Highness. Do you have any specific duties you'd like me to preform?"

"Just keep them from ganging up on me," Bilba replied, "and we'll see what happens." Giving the woman such a broad description was probably a singularly bad idea but Bilba didn't know what else to do. She'd been raised in boarding schools, not the palace. Reporters had always left her alone and the few interviews she had done when visiting the palace had always been tightly controlled, monitored, and usually dominated, by her grandfather.

"Of course," Lila replied. "Leave it to me, Your Highness."

She slipped out the door and, almost immediately, Bilba heard the noise die down. With a sigh, she sank down in the pilot's chair, only to jump back to her feet as the door opened again to reveal the pilot, the co-pilot trudging behind him.

"Can I have my cockpit back now?"

"Of course," Bilba said. She straightened her shoulders and put her head up as she faced the rest of the plane past the relative safety of the cockpit.

She could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she strode out the door and to her seat.

***

Lila was as good as her word.

Bilba was soon sitting next to a window with the woman in question next to her and her crew scattered around them, taking up the seats in front, behind and even on the other side of the aisle. The rest of the press had been arranged throughout the plane in what appeared to be some sort of hierarchy but Bilba couldn't begin to understand what it was.

"Thank you," she said sincerely to Lila. "I was beginning to worry I'd be trampled before the week was out."

The woman gave her a bright smile. "Not used to this, are you, Your Highness?"

A slight warning bell went off and Bilba tried to give what she hoped was a casual smile in return. "Just been a busy few days is all."

"Of course." Lila shifted in her seat and then pulled a recorder out from somewhere. Bilba felt her heart sink just a bit and tensed. She was already exhausted, and hungry, but it was becoming increasingly clear that any chance of relaxing was very far off.

Lila clicked the recorder on and Bilba let herself feel at least a little gratitude at the fact the woman was at least showing her the courtesy of being obvious rather than attempting to secretly record her. "So," she started off, "no one has been able to locate Bofur since the wedding. Why is that?."

For the briefest of seconds, Bilba was tempted to just tell the woman the truth. Everything, just open her mouth and let it all out. The moment passed quickly. Her grandfather didn't just have power after all. He had something even greater, public support. His approval ratings were ridiculous, unnaturally so, but few bothered to ask why or, rather, few dared. Bilba was convinced it wasn't possible that _everyone_ was taken in by her grandfather, but those who knew weren't stupid enough to cross him. It would have to take an extraordinary circumstance for them to risk everything and she doubted anyone would do it for anyone outside of a family member or exceptionally close friend.

Bilba's only friends in Shire were commoners and she knew full well no one in her family would lift a finger for her, not when it would jeopardize their lifestyles. If she tried to speak out, her grandfather would spin it. Suddenly all the papers would be reporting on the ungrateful, selfish Princess and her attempts to jeopardize a treaty desperately needed. A treaty everyone was currently praising for grandfather for landing, never even realizing it was his own fault. Her grandfather had blamed Shire's financial straits on multiple factors, including the weather, and bad investments by wealthy bankers. Those poor individuals he singled out soon found themselves facing a mountain of evidence, so great it seemed odd no one had seen it before, and decade's worth of prison time. The Thain had gone onto claim the country's massive, subsequent debt was due to him desperately borrowing money in an attempt to save his people, who he took personal responsibility for, from having to suffer due to the mistakes of others. He had started some programs, paraded so-called "success" stories across the stage, and claimed the near constant balls thrown at the palace were to boost morale for the county and confidence in the stability of the monarchy.

In the end, people had _applauded_ her grandfather's effort, as they were applauding his treaty now. Bilba had already seen some of the headlines, detailing his brilliant negotiating skills and tenacity when it came to protecting his people. Erebor, at least so far, was silent. They could set the record straight if they wished but, in doing so, they risked appearing ungrateful for the help the Thain had given them in exile, petulant over being asked to repay an honor debt.

So, her grandfather stayed as he was, a gilded tyrant with a chokehold on the media, popular opinion and the country's resources. Speaking out against him would simply provide him with even more ammunition to use against her, and he had more than enough of that already.

Therefore, much like everyone else who'd ever been in her position, Bilba took the logical, reasonable, and only survivable, course of action.  

She lied.

"Well, you see," she started out, voice smooth and practiced from years of  pretending everything was all right, "we knew it would be chaotic when the truth came out so it was decided that..."

The lie rolled off her tongue with greater ease than it should have and Bilba felt a burst of nausea at the thought of what her grandfather's actions had forced her to do for the sake of her own survival, and that of the people she cared about.

It was probably a good thing she hadn't eaten after all.

***

Bilba watched out the window a couple hours later as the plane spiraled down toward the place she'd considered home for the past several years. Hobbiton was small and considered a backwater, without any of the amenities larger cities had, but she loved it just the same. It was quiet, and peaceful and had plenty of large, wide open spaces where she could spend time by herself simply reading a book.

She spotted the sprawling campus of Bad End University and felt her gut twist at the thought of all the time, and money, she'd spent there. The palace had begrudgingly paid for her boarding schools over the years but, once she'd graduated at eighteen, she'd been on her own. Her grandfather had made a big deal about her "decision" to make a go of it on her own, forsaking the aid he'd so graciously offered her. At the time, Bilba had been so happy at the thought of being out from under his thumb she hadn't cared that he'd spun things to portray himself as the longsuffering grandfather or her as the ungrateful child spurring the palace's gracious offer of aid.

When summer had rolled around and the typical invite/demand from the palace hadn't arrived she'd been ecstatic. She hadn't heard much from them since then and had foolishly thought she was free. She'd applied to Bag End, managed to get both financial aid and a dorm spot, and started her classes. She'd later managed to get a modest job in the university library, which had then let her answer an ad Rosie had posted looking for a roommate in a small apartment off campus. She'd later ended up taking out a few student loans when financial aid and her job hadn't been enough and, of course, had joined the ballet company.

She'd had a life, in other words.

One she'd felt she was entitled to just as much as any other person in Shire was.

As always, she should have known better. The Thain wasn't one to let go of potential resources. He might have ignored her and allowed her to go her own way for a while but that didn't mean she'd ever ceased to be a viable pawn on his chessboard.

Beside her, Lila was typing away on her laptop, no doubt working on an article pieced together from the seemingly endless series of questions she'd had for most of the ride over. Bilba had done her best to stick to the "official" story whenever she could, while staying as vague as possible about Bofur or Rosie or other aspects. The last thing she wanted to do was lock them into a certain storyline that they might not remember in the future. When the questions had turned to Thorin or Erebor she'd gotten even more vague, which had been easier as there truly wasn't a lot she knew about either subject. She knew the basic history of Erebor of course and the names of the royal family members, but she'd never met or spoken to any of them before. The only royals she _did_ know were Aragorn and Arwen, the king and queen of Gondor. Her mother had been friends with Aragorn's parents from when they'd used to visit Shire and Aragorn, and later Arwen, had kept it up with Bilba. It hadn't made her grandfather happy but there was little he could do against the royals of another, more powerful, kingdom, especially after they'd ascended to the throne. Bilba didn't speak to them all that often but she did count them among her friends. Had she been able to make it to Gondor, she had no doubt they would have protected her from her grandfather's ire.

Regardless, however, Gondor didn't have any particular ties with Erebor so she'd never had any opportunity, or reason, to care about them.

The plane bumped lightly as it touched down on the tarmac and Bilba pulled out of her musings to watch as the landscape rushed past. The jet slowed to a stop a few moments later and she chewed on her lip at the sight of a brand-new mass of reporters gathered around the entrance to the single terminal.

"Help me sneak off and give me a four-hour head start and I'll give you a thirty-minute exclusive," she said without turning around.

"Two hour head start and an hour long exclusive," Lila responded without looking up from her laptop.

Bilba sighed. "Fine."

Lila smiled brightly and slapped the lid of her laptop back down. "Deal. What size are you?"

***

A mere twenty minutes later, Bilba found herself standing in front of the closed door of what had been her apartment a mere two days earlier.

It was insane to think how much had changed since she'd last walked through it. She was alone. Lila had been true to her word. Somehow, she'd gotten ahold of a baggage handlers uniform and had Bilba change into it. She'd gained the secrecy of the rest of the press on the plane by inciting a sense of rivalry between them and the "backwoods" Hobbiton reporters. Bilba had been led down a set of stairs into the baggage compartment with a hat and sunglasses on, and had joined the arriving crew in offloading the bags and walking into the airport, right past the gaggle of reporters gathered about the door.

Her guard hadn't come with her, thankfully. Bilba had used the debit card with her money loaded on it, given to her personally by her grandfather with far too much ease for her to be comfortable with, and headed out to hail a cab.

And now she was here, the one place she'd wanted desperately to get to, and the one place she was now terrified to be.

She dragged in a shaky breath, and forced herself to knock on the door before clasping her hands anxiously in front of her. She had a key of course, but it didn't feel right to just barge in, not anymore.

She wasn't sure if she wanted Rosie to be home or not. Her friend was obsessed with royals, and had been insanely excited about the wedding. As far as she knew, Bilba had known what was going to happen all along and had deliberately kept it from her.

The door handle moved and Bilba made a strangled sound, and held her breath.

It opened, and, just like that, Bilba was face to face with her friend.

For a few seconds, the two women just stared at one another.

"Hey Rosie," Bilba finally managed to stammer out. "I -- um -- I can explain. I promise. If you'll just give me a chance--"

Her words cut off as Rosie suddenly surged forward, and threw both arms around her. "It's all right," she said, squeezing Bilba as hard as she could. "I already know." She pulled back to frown at her. "You poor thing! Your grandfather is such a jerk!"

She went back in to hug her again and Bilba hesitantly returned the embrace in confusion. "You already know? How?"

Rosie pulled away again and turned to point back into the apartment. "He came over and told me."

Bilba followed the other girl's gaze, and froze, heart jolting in her chest and her breath catching in her throat. "Bofur?"

Inside the apartment, Bofur gave her a tired grin. He was pale, had heavy bags under his eyes, and he wore the same clothing she'd last seen him in but, other than that, looked fine. "Hey Bilba," he said, voice quiet. "Are you all right?"

Bilba studied him, and then Rosie who had moved to stand next to her with an arm protectively wrapped around her waist, and did the only thing that seemed reasonable in that instance.

She burst into tears.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are looking for more fanfic to read, I recommend my awesome beta's story - "The Time For Home". If you've already read her epic series "History Teaches Us" and its sequel, "Shall History Remember?" then you already know she's an amazingly talented writer and her new story is just as amazing! :D :D
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8359249/chapters/19148836

Bilba threw herself into Bofur's arms, wrapped both of her around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder.  

"I'm so glad you're okay," she managed to get out. She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes closed as she struggled to get herself back under control.

A panicked thought suddenly crossed her mind and she jerked back with a gasp, taking his face in her hands and studying him critically. " _Are_ you okay?" She couldn't see anything, but then her grandfather wasn't that stupid. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, searching for any sign of pain. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

He gently grabbed her wrists and stopped her. "I'm fine. More important question, are you all right?"

Bilba nodded. She tugged her hands free and threw her arms around him again. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault." As she spoke she drew back enough to dig the handkerchief he always carried from his pocket to wipe her face.

Bofur chuckled as she handed it back, shoving it in his pocket with one hand while keeping the other around her in an embrace. "Not sure how you figure that."

Bilba felt Rosie put a hand comfortingly on her back, and she let go of Bofur to hug the other girl. After, she stood stiffly between them, wringing her hands in anxiety. Seeing Rosie, usually so hyper and excited, somber and quiet drove home even harder just how much things had fundamentally changed. "I know what my grandfather is like. I should have left you alone, both of you."

The fact two other people now knew the kind of man her grandfather was should have been a relief, but all it really did was make her feel ill. Thanks to her, Rosie and Bofur had drawn the Thain's notice, and that was the last thing she'd have wished on anyone.

"You have the right to live your life," Bofur said firmly, loosely grabbing her hands in his. "No one can blame you for that."

He was so very wrong, Bilba thought, but didn't say it. Instead she took a somewhat still shaky breath and forced a smile.

It vanished when Bofur, without thinking, leaned in to try and kiss her. Bilba gave a startled gasp and looked away sharply as images of photographers with telephoto lenses and tabloid magazines filled her mind. It wasn't something she'd ever had to worry about before as the paparazzi had always given her little notice. For not the first time, she wondered how her family dealt with the constant press of always being in the public eye. Specifically, she wondered how Beatrice did it. The other woman wasn't exactly known for being faithful to her husband but, in the public eye, she was only ever spoken of as being kind and charitable.   

Bofur looked surprised, and then his head dropped down to where his thumb had absently been running over the ring on her finger. Bilba despised it. It was too big and the poorly cut diamonds, arranged in a garish and unattractive cluster, kept ending up wedged between her fingers or on the underside of her ring finger as the weight dragged the band around. It was the exact opposite of anything she'd have ever willingly chosen and was desperately hoping her grandfather had picked it out as the thought her new, unwanted, husband had such abysmal taste was simply depressing.

"It's not a real marriage," Bofur said, trying to give her what he probably hoped was a reassuring smile. At her confused look, he continued. "You were coerced. You can just have it annulled, or deny it all together I guess since it didn't really happen in the first place."

Rosie frowned. "What makes you think it's not legal?"

Bofur gave her a confused look. "It's a marriage _contract_. You can't enter into a binding contract against your will."

Understanding dawned and Bilba gave him a look somewhere between affectionate and resigned. She'd become so used to having Bofur in her life she sometimes forgot he'd only moved to Shire a year and a half earlier. She'd met him on his first day of class, offering him help after seeing him wandering aimlessly about campus searching for the library.

Before that, Bofur had lived in Rohan for most of his life. Erebor had fallen when he'd been just a baby and his family had been among the lucky ones to make it out. Rather than follow the royal family into exile in Moria, a sister kingdom ruled by a secondary branch of the Durin line, they'd instead chosen to make a new life for themselves in Rohan. When Erebor had been retaken, Bofur's brother had eventually returned to set up a bakery in the capitol but his parents, and Bofur, had remained in their new country.

"Shire is an absolute monarchy," Bilba reminded him. It was a fact easily forgotten, or often simply ignored. The Thain rarely issued commands directly, preferring to work behind the scenes to keep his hands clean. In addition, despite her now solved financial woes, the Shire was considered an exceptionally prosperous, peaceful kingdom filled with contented people. Her universities were second to none and attracted talent from all over the world while her cost of living and quality of life index drew still more.

It all looked utterly perfect, on the surface. Under it all, of course, had been her family's slow bankrupting of the kingdom, the true extent of which they had carefully downplayed, and her grandfather's obsession with being a bastard who mercilessly crushed any who dared cross him.

"The marriage is legal," she continued, "because the Thain's word is law and he said it was."

Bofur looked slack jawed. Clearly, he'd been among those who'd forgotten the makeup of Shire's power structure. "That's okay," he finally stammered. "Erebor is different. You can contest it there."

"Thorin could contest it," Bilba corrected, "but it wouldn't do him any good as he agreed to the marriage." He may not have _wanted_ to, but he hadn't been coerced or tricked the way she had. He'd done his duty as Erebor's heir and fulfilled the agreement his grandfather had made. His marriage was legal by Erebor's standards, just as hers was by Shire's.

Bofur sank down on the couch. Rosie sat awkwardly on the arm of a chair nearby and Bilba stayed where she was.

"Erebor would never hold you to something your grandfather forced you into," Bofur said finally, "even if it was somehow legal." He grimaced and Bilba heard him mutter under his breath something along the lines of, "Didn't realize this place was still stuck in the bloody 1700s." He frowned at her. "You could always just ask for a divorce."

"And what happens to the alliance if I call it off?" Bilba asked. Part of her laughed at the fact she was, essentially, playing devil's advocate but the larger part was far more pragmatic about the whole thing.

Erebor had been outright taken advantage of in the alliance. Shire got everything while Erebor effectively got an anchor around her neck. If Bilba ended the marriage it could well create a loophole through which Erebor could call off the alliance. She might not care about her grandfather or family but she did love Shire and there was no doubt the kingdom was in desperate need of the alliance. She wouldn't stay for her grandfather, but she would for her kingdom, a fact she was sure her grandfather was already aware of, and had taken it into account when choosing her for the role.  

Even if she looked past all that, however, there was the very real concern that, even if she didn't care about what happened to Shire, she would have cause to worry about her own safety and that of her friends.

_"Why weren't you in the car?"_

She swallowed past a sudden rock lodged in her throat. She already knew what happened to people who defied her grandfather. It wasn't that she'd have to fear for her life, not immediately and not _her_ life at least. Her grandfather would make sure she suffered first, that he took away everything she'd ever had or loved, and that would include Rosie and Bofur.

At least she would be going to Erebor where she'd be reasonably safe. It was about the only positive she could find in this whole mess and, even then, it scared her for the simple fact that, once she left, Bofur and Rosie would be alone in Shire and at her grandfather's mercy. Assuming he had any.

A question that had been worrying at her rose and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she already knew was the answer. "Do you still have your passport?"

Bofur shook his head. "No, they took it when they arrested me and never gave it back. I figured they'd mail it to me."

"I doubt it," Bilba said, spirits falling and resignation setting. Suspicion and supposition was one thing, having it spelled out as fact was another. "And if you try to get it back I'd imagine you'll find yourself facing a wall of red tape." She sat down on the edge of the coffee table, between Bofur and Rosie. Putting her hands on her lap, she twisted them together, unable to look Rosie in the eye. "I don't imagine you'd have much luck trying to leave either," she admitted quietly.

Her grandfather wouldn't want his hostages running away. If they tried they would face hurdle after hurdle until they simply gave up from frustration or despair. Naturally, none of the trouble would ever track back to her grandfather and he would have no trouble manufacturing any number of unfortunate, yet perfectly understandable, reasons for the constant barriers and delays.

"I'm sorry," she said, again. No matter how often she said it, it'd never feel like it was enough. She'd radically changed both their lives, ensured her grandfather would be constantly monitoring them and all she could offer for it were empty words.

Rosie shrugged. "It's not like I was planning on going anywhere. Your grandfather is an ass, but it doesn't change the fact that Shire is my home."

Bofur's large hands gently took hers. "We'll figure something out. You can still get to Arwen, even without us. Your grandfather isn't stupid enough to take on Gondor."

Bilba shook her head. She could flee to Gondor and effectively go into exile but what purpose would it serve? She'd cause a three-kingdom international incident, destroy the alliance and endanger Rosie and Bofur. Her grandfather would destroy her reputation in revenge, painting her as an ungrateful, selfish, heartless shrew. She doubted she'd be welcome in Erebor or Shire after and, outside of Arwen and Aragorn, the kingdom of Gondor would probably look at her as a leech.  She'd end up a virtual shut-in, locked in a proverbial tower the rest of her life.

She was so very _tired_ of being locked in towers.

A thought crossed her mind and she grimaced. For all she knew, Erebor already had a literal tower set up and waiting for their unwanted princess, complete with thick bars and locks. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she looked down to where the ring sat on her finger like a fat shackle. She'd been trying her best not to think of Erebor at all or, when unavoidable, to at least try and see it in some sort of positive light. It was difficult, however, when she knew how badly her grandfather had treated Erebor and how little they wanted to do with her.

"Hey," Bofur said, ducking down to catch her eyes. "We'll figure something out, all right? You've still got a week."

"Exactly," Rosie said, false cheer in her voice. "It's plenty of time." She clapped her hands together and said, "It's been a rough couple of days for you. We should have some fun."

"I can't," Bilba said, resigned. "I have to talk to my professors, check if any of my units will transfer, pack, and go shopping." She had a small wardrobe but it was all simple clothing, bargain basement jeans and shorts and t-shirts and the like. She'd never been expected to act like a princess so she'd never bothered dressing like one. She was sorely lacking in formal wear and doubted casual wear for the Durin royalty included grass stained jeans or shirts faded from wear and to many trips through the laundry. She also only owned two pairs of shoes, sneakers and sandals, and her jewelry was limited to a few cheap necklaces and pairs of earrings.

"Perfect," Rosie said, clapping her hands. "We can start at the end of the list!" She jumped to her feet and grabbed Bilba by the hands, tugging her up as well. "Come on!"

Bilba shot a nervous look toward Bofur, who gave an easy shrug and stood up. "I actually agree with Rosie. You've put up with enough crap for the last two days. Give yourself a break before dealing with the rest."

Bilba hesitated. "Did I mention I came with a gaggle of reporters who are going to be pounding the door down pretty soon?"

The smile on Rosie's face turned downright wicked. "Even better." She tugged on Bilba's hand, pulling her toward the door. "I think your grandfather should see you having fun!"

Bilba could just imagine the look on his face when he saw her on the news spending the money she'd tricked him into giving her. A slow grin started to creep across her face and she hesitantly linked her arm through Bofur's on her right side and Rosie's on her left. "I think you may have a point."

"Of course I do," Rosie said sagely. "Let's go, there's no time to waste!"

Bilba sent an exasperated look toward Bofur, who gave her an amused one in return. Then she took a deep breath and allowed her friend to drag her out of the apartment.

She _did_ need to go shopping, she reassured herself.

It would be nice to have some fun.

Sticking it to her grandfather would be a bonus.

***

As it turned out, a week wasn't very long at all.

Lila Bolger's definition of two hours on that first day was quite a bit shorter than the standard definition and Bilba had barely set foot outside when the three of them had been swarmed by reporters with flashing cameras. They'd been forced to flee back inside until her driver had bothered to show up with a rented limo.

Rosie and Bofur had taken up position on either side of her and, together, they'd waded through the throng to the car. Once there, Lila had shown up out of nowhere and Bilba had invited her in the car because, ambush or not, the woman was still the closest thing to an ally in the media she had and alienating her would be idiotic.

Things were a whirlwind after that.

Rosie helped her with all the shopping. It was here that Rosie's expertise paid off as her obsession with all things royalty extended to their fashion. With her, and a gaggle of reporters in tow, Bilba loaded up on everything she could possibly need for her new role as Crown Princess of Erebor. From several gorgeous, jeweled gowns to properly fitting jeans without the holes, torn seams or stretchiness of her regular ones.

Bofur had commented that Erebor had colder winters than Shire so she'd picked out a few sweaters, coats and cold weather gear as well as lighter clothing for the other seasons. After that, she'd bought a few pieces of all-purpose jewelry that could be worn with multiple outfits and in many a different level of social function. At Rosie's insistence, she also bought several new pairs of shoes and a few hair accessories. With every purchase, she tried to settle on things that were quality but not overpriced. She tried to buy things that could be multipurpose and limited herself to only a few purchases in any one category. She had no need for rows upon rows of dresses or shirts she'd never wear. Beatrice had entire closets of clothing she'd never touched after purchasing and, as far as Bilba could see, the only purpose they served was to gather dust.

At each store, she happily showed off her purchases to the reporters and gave the requisite audio clips they wanted. She stayed vague on questions pertaining to Erebor or her grandfather and family and tried to focus on her week, purchasing supplies and getting ready. Later, watching the news reports, she realized that approach made her come off sounding rather shallow and out of touch but there was little she could do about it. She had nothing good to say about her grandfather or her family and knew too little about Erebor or Thorin to speak on that topic.

It didn't help that the reporters didn't bother covering her and Bofur at school speaking to her professors, or at the Administration building getting transcripts to hopefully transfer credits to a university in Erebor It was boring, she was bluntly informed by Lila, and they had ratings to consider. They also didn't cover her saying good-bye to her ballet company or her other friends because she refused to let them. They were private matters that she didn't want splashed all over the media.

While she handled that, Bofur and Rosie gave interviews or showed the media around. Bilba had never been so proud of them. Both were poised and gave practiced, calm answers to questions as if they'd been doing it all their lives. The only thing that broke her heart was listening to Bofur give credence to the lie that their relationship had never been real. It was necessary, to protect her grandfather's lie which would, in turn, keep Bofur safe from the Thain's wrath as well as future hounding by the press, but it caused a deep pain and twisting of her heart every time she heard it. Judging by the way Bofur's lips would thin and his expression turn grim it was clear he was affected as well.

Bilba knew, as the week progressed, that she needed to box up her belongings from the apartment, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Each time she thought about it she'd end up nauseated and shaking, a bone deep chill settling inside her.

Simply put, she was scared.

She didn't know _anything_ about Erebor Oh, she knew the names and ages of the royal family from school but that told her nothing about them as people. She couldn't recall much about their culture or landscape past Bofur telling her it was colder and the general knowledge that they supposedly valued honor. So did her grandfather, according to his many speeches.

She had no idea what sort of treatment she would receive, and would be in no position to do anything about it.

"You'll be fine," Bofur assured her. "If they don't treat you right, leave. You've got the money to go anywhere you want."

"Try to get some evidence first, though," Rosie said, worried. "That way they can't blame you for it. No one will fault you for leaving if you can prove they mistreated you."

Bilba had forced a smile and assured them she'd be fine, even as her mind informed her how utterly alone she'd be once she left for Erebor There were no servants going with her, no guards, and certainly no family or friends. It'd just be her, in a country where she'd need a map just to find her way around the palace.

It was clear Rosie and Bofur didn't believe her for a second and so, toward the end of the week, she allowed them to drag her to an amusement park. It was one of the first times she'd been truly out in public since the wedding. Before that she'd stuck to her school, ballet company and higher end boutiques with good security and small buildings that only held a few people at a time.

The amusement park was huge, and filled with people dreaming of befriending royalty. If her grandfather, or any of her relatives, had gone the park would have been closed to the public, but Bilba hadn't thought to ask. She'd been to the park many times before the wedding and attracted little notice, but there was no hiding now.

In the end, it was the park security and, of all people, the press who looked out for her. They had taken a near propriety interest in her and didn't like the public trying to stake a claim. The press formed a tight group around her, refusing to let anyone so much as take a picture that could later be sold to a competitor.

The constant press of people and the unending cacophony of shouting grated on her ears and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. She hadn't realized just how badly she wanted this day until they'd arrived. She had no idea when she'd ever see Rosie or Bofur again, or the Shire for that matter. Also, given the uncertainty of her future, she had no idea when, or if, she'd ever get to go to another amusement park, or have any fun for that matter.

All thanks to her awful grandfather, who'd be getting away with it while she couldn't even have one damn day to enjoy with her friends without the press or the public swarming her. She hadn't been able to speak freely to Rosie or Bofur after that first day. Bofur went home at night and she couldn't speak to Rosie in their apartment for fear it had been bugged in her absence.

Now it was almost over and she wasn't even being allowed to have one final day with her friends.

It irritated her and the further they went, the more the irritation morphed into outright anger.

Eventually, she stopped trying to be cordial. She put her head up, clenched her hands into fists and marched forward, intent on getting to spend a fun day with her friends despite the circumstances. For the rest of the day, she focused on that, hitting nearly all the rides, walking through the shops and eating dinner at one of her favorite cafes at the park. Security cleared out the areas as best they could before Bilba and her friends entered, allowing them to enjoy at least a semblance of peace even if the masses were always there, just on the fringe. Some wanted to congratulate her on her wedding, or wanted her to pass on their thanks to her grandfather for saving the Shire. Others were hoping for a friendship with royalty, in the hopes it would lead them into fame, riches and glory. Several wanted her to give them phone numbers of various family members, up to and including Beatrice, a few of her aunts, an uncle, and a few others. At least two of the requests, from teenage girls, were for Thorin's 16-year-old brother and at least one was for his sister.

Bilba ignored them all, pushing aside the small voice informing her that Rosie had always been just as obsessed with royalty and celebrities and she'd always humored the other girl. It wasn't until the end of the day when she started to see parents apologizing to upset children who hadn't gotten to go on all the rides they'd wanted, and worn out teenagers suffering heat stroke from following her around trying to get her attention, that the voice got too loud to ignore.

"Should I even ask how this is going to play?" she asked Lila, guilt already gnawing at her.

The woman shrugged. "I don't control the press."

Bofur, walking on her other side, snorted. "Don't worry so much about it," he said, throwing an arm across her shoulders, his other arm weighed down by the bags full of merchandise Bilba had bought for herself, him and Rosie. "They'll be telling everyone about the day they went to the park and came within arm's length of a princess."

Bilba rolled her eyes. She didn't think the prospect had been nearly as exciting for the children but there wasn't much she could do about it. She should have just left once she saw how much disruption her presence was causing. Instead she'd let her irritation and anger at her circumstances lead her to take it out on people who'd had nothing to do with it. She was going to look like a self-centered brat on the news and she had no one to blame but herself.

Disgust curled in her gut. She'd acted little better than Beatrice, or her grandfather. She always prided herself on being nothing like her family but it was in moments like these she feared she might not be as far off as she liked to think.

Rosie wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed. "Stop looking so serious. You're always so melodramatic."

Bilba laughed in spite of herself and could see by the look in Rosie's eyes that the other girl was fully aware of the irony in her statement.

"It could always be worse," Rosie continued and Bilba conceded the point with a slight inclination of her head.

They'd reached the entrance of the park and Rosie grabbed her arm with both hands, pointing toward an ice cream park right next to the gate. "Oh, let's grab ice cream before we leave!"

"Okay," Bilba reached into her purse and got her card out. Bofur had offered to pay several times that day but she'd refused, citing it was her gift to them before she left. She'd also tried to buy things, mostly food and drinks, for the press but they'd always declined, often with nervous looks at one another she hadn't understood. Bofur and Rosie hadn't seemed to notice or think anything of it so she'd put it out of her mind and stopped asking.

She ordered cones and handed her card across to the young man behind the stand. The day had been warm and her hair and clothing were sticking to her neck and back with a light sheen of sweat. She felt worn out, her feet hurt and she felt grimy and generally gross. The sight of the refreshing ice cream had her nearly salivating with anticipation.

"I'm sorry, but your card has been declined," the cashier said nervously, handing the card back out to her. "Do you happen to have another one?"

Bilba blinked at him in surprise. She'd barely made a dent in the money she'd gotten from her grandfather, even with all she'd bought that day. "Can you try again? There's plenty still on the card."

"Okay." He didn't look convinced but obediently ran the card again, and again after that. He kept his head down, eyes off her and red hair falling into his face. A squawk sounded from the machine, letting anyone close know the card had been declined, and Bilba felt her stomach clench. She'd brought a small clutch with her to the park and was holding it in both hands in front of her like a shield, fingers nearly white with how hard she held it.

A third squawk and a cold sweat broke out on her skin. A fourth as the young man ran it again and she wanted desperately to tell him to stop, humiliation already burned into her marrow, but she couldn't seem to get the words out. She was frozen, the press falling silent as a giant, proverbial spotlight fell upon her and that damned machine.

A fifth squawk. She flinched and her lungs froze in her chest.

An arm appeared beside her, a card held out lightly between two fingers.

"It must have gotten demagnetized," Bofur said smoothly, voice loud enough to carry. "Use this one."

He put a hand lightly on the small of her back as the man ran the card and gave it back. The ice cream was handed over and Bofur turned to give one to Rosie before holding hers out.

The cashier was holding her card out and Bilba woodenly took it. "I need to make a call."

"Not here," Bofur said, his voice low. "Wait for the car."

Bilba gave a shaky nod and didn't resist as Rosie linked a hand through her arm. Bofur did the same on the other side, handing over her cone as he did. Bilba held it stiffly as they walked out to the limo and stood still as Bofur loaded the bags into the trunk. He held the door open and she and Rosie both slid in.

The second Bofur got in and closed the door, Bilba had her phone out and was dialing. The switchboard operator answered and she demanded to speak to her grandfather.

"The Thain is indisposed," the operator said and Bilba clenched her teeth.

"Tell him it's his _favorite_ granddaughter," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "He'll want to talk to me."

Of course he would. He wouldn't be able to resist an opportunity to gloat. In her other hand, the ice cream was beginning to melt, chocolate ice cream running in thick rivulets down the sides to run in cold trails over her fingers.

"Ah, Bilba," her grandfather's voice came over the phone. "Enjoying your day, I trust?"

Bilba held the phone so tight the plastic creaked under her fingers. "What happened to the money?" she demanded.

"Money?" her grandfather asked, his voice so innocent that there was now no doubt in her mind he'd done something. Her mind went to the ease and near glee with which he'd given her the card and she kicked herself for taking it without question.

She should have known better.

She _did_ know better.

"The money," she said through clenched teeth. "My card was declined. What did you do?"

"Oh, that!" he said, voice still jovial as if they were merely speaking about the weather. "I gave you exactly what you asked for, minus of course the costs to repair the damage you did to your aunts' rooms and Beatrice's room. I thought it only proper that you pay to replace all the property you destroyed." His voice took on a confused tone. "You _would_ agree with that, wouldn't you, my dear? After all, you're an adult. Surely you realize that tantrums are beneath you and the only proper course of action would be to pay for what you broke."

Bilba felt lightheaded, and her breathing was coming in short gasps. In her other hand, the cone collapsed under the pressure she was putting on it and the melted ice cream soaking it. A rush of liquid chocolate ran over her arm and dripped down onto the pants and long jacket she was wearing, the same one she'd bought with Beatrice's stolen credit card on that first night.

Her grandfather gave a low chuckle and she pulled the phone away and stabbed the button to end the call. Heat was racing through her and she could feel tears of pure rage gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Bilba?" Rosie said gently, and she looked up to see her and Bofur staring at her with wide, concerned, eyes. "What is it? What happened?"

Bilba gave a bitter smile and answered, her voice barely a whisper. "It got worse."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're thinking Bilba is making some poor choices and also getting the short end of the stick a lot - the idea is this is a normal girl who's been thrown into the proverbial hornet's nest with no training, no experience and no help in navigating her way through. I've never been a huge fan of the Chosen One trope you sometimes see where a random person finds out they're the long lost/prophesized whoever and suddenly they're an expert in all the things and can, with little to no training, best people with a veritable lifetime of training.  
> SO, Bilba isn't going to just wake up one day and be able to best her grandfather who has decades of experience and ALL the power on his side. Likewise, she's not just suddenly going to know how to navigate the waters of politics or being a celebrity where her every move is scrutinized and questioned. It's only been a week for her and a chaotic one at that so she's at the very beginning of her journey and hasn't even had a chance to start learning her way. She'll get it eventually but not magically and certainly not overnight, or in a week! :D :D


	8. Chapter 8

Thorin eyed Dwalin, sliding his feet across the mat to keep his body facing his opponent as the other man slowly circled in.

Dwalin's arm flew out, hand angled like the blade of a knife and aimed directly at Thorin's nose. Thorin blocked the blow and pivoted on the ball of his foot, twisting and sending his opposite leg up in a punishing blow.

He felt Dwalin block it, and then use an arm to lock the leg in place. A second later the man's foot hooked around Thorin's ankle and then he was landing on the mat with a heavy thud. He grunted in annoyance, pulled his legs up, planted his hands on the mat behind his head and pushed back to his feet in one easy move. Dwalin, who'd fallen into an at-ready position, dropped into a crouch and moved back in.

Thorin made a sound that would have been at home coming from an enraged animal, and went on the attack.

The two had already been going at it for a while. Thorin's naked chest was slick with sweat and the sleeveless t-shirt Dwalin wore was drenched. Both were heaving for oxygen and were sore and bruised from blows much harder than standard for simple sparring. Dwalin never held back, while Thorin...

Thorin was simply pissed.

He'd been angry for so long now he sometimes forgot what it felt like to _not_ be angry. Ever since the Thain had made his idiotic demands, and ever since he'd seen the look in Kyra's eyes as he'd broken her heart.

The wedding a week ago, held on a date Shire had demanded, had been the very date he and Kyra had set for their own wedding. All of it had been planned and in place already, reception hall, vendors, the guests had all been invited. It had been a royal wedding, preparations took months and they didn't stop just because the Shire was making absurd demands. No one had truly believed it would turn out the way it did. Thorin hadn't truly believed it up until the moment he'd found himself at an altar facing a complete stranger.

Once he'd arrived in Shire, he'd demanded to see the Thain to personally relay his feelings on Shire forcing the date. Gerontius had gone wide eyed and shocked, insisting he'd had no idea and, indeed, everything had been taken care of, and planned, via proxies. Every letter, meeting, every rejection of every plea to have the marriage on a different day, had been with someone other than the Thain.

Even so, Thorin had no doubt the bastard was lying.

There was simply no way he'd not heard of the problem with the date, not when every news agency in Erebor, and many in Shire, had reported on it. It wasn't feasible that the man could be so blind about what was going on in his own kingdom, or the one he aimed to ally with. The Thain had been exercising his power to make a point, to show he could, or simply because he was a bastard and enjoyed acting the part.

And Thorin was just... so... _angry_ about it all.

Since returning to Erebor, he'd dragged Dwalin to the training rooms every day and fought until he was too tired to move. At first, others had been there, to watch or work out on their own. As time had progressed, and it had become clear Thorin wasn't just sparring, they'd slowly drifted away.

Now it was just the two of them, doing their best to kick one another's arses. The red mats under their feet were slick from sweat, forcing them both to stop every so often to reapply chalk to their soles to avoid slipping. They were nearing the end of this current match, both near to collapsing, and it was just one of many, many, _many_ such matches over the last week and Thorin's anger hadn't diminished.

If anything, it had intensified.

The room was lined with mirrors and Thorin caught a glimpse of himself in one as they moved, dark bruises lining his body from prior matches and red areas promising new ones. Tendrils of hair were escaping the low ponytail he'd pulled it into, his eyes held a wild look and clear exhaustion lined his face and dragged at his limbs. Â 

Not exactly the image most people had of the Crown Prince of Erebor.

Some days, the bouts had ended explosively with one or the other getting the upper hand in a sudden attack targeting an opening or weakness brought on by fatigue or sheer laziness. Sometimes it ended when Dwalin decided it had gone on long enough and simply refused to fight anymore.

Today, it ended by mutual, unspoken agreement.

Dwalin threw another punch, stumbling in exhaustion and accidentally overreaching. Thorin grabbed his arm, crouched and used his body weight to throw the other man over his shoulder and onto the mat behind him. Erebor's Chief of Security rolled easily to his feet and, just like that, they both knew the fight was over.

They headed to the nearby bench where Dwalin grabbed a bottle of water while Thorin ran a towel over his face.

"You going to hit the showers?" Thorin asked. He snatched his own bottle of water and guzzled from it, before dumping the rest over his face and shoulders. They were off the mats now and on the wood flooring and he idly dropped a towel down to mop up the water that made it that far.

Dwalin snorted. "Some of us don't have the luxury of getting to our duties any time we want, your Highness." He wrapped the towel around his neck and took another swig of water. "And Ori would have my head if I didn't check in with her before heading off."

Thorin chuckled, imagining the diminutive woman who had one of Erebor's toughest and most intimidating warriors wrapped around her little finger. "Tell her I thank her for the loan of her husband."

That earned him a longsuffering sigh before Dwalin headed out, grumbling under his breath the entire time. Thorin put little stock in it. The two of them had been friends since childhood and while Dwalin might complain and mutter, Thorin knew the other man's friendship and loyalty were unwavering.

He gathered his towel, water and bag and left through the second door in the room. This one led to a bank of showers, all currently empty as no one wanted to be anywhere near him at the moment.

He stripped down, tossed his things onto one of the long benches lining the industrial styled area, and stepped into one of the showers. They were arranged in long banks, a simple wall separating each and no doors. The floors were all tiled and fitted with drains to siphon off the excess water. Large rubber mats ran the full length, lowering the risk of the palace getting sued for providing an unsafe environment for its employees.

He turned the handle and ice-cold water sputtered out, pattering down on him in barely a drizzle before slowly gaining strength. The temperature felt fantastic on his heated skin and he leaned forward with a sigh, resting a forearm on the wall and dropping his head on it. His other hand he kept absently on the shower handle. The water streaming down his back began to heat, relaxing sore muscles and relieving some of the tension that seemed permanently set into his shoulders.

This whole thing was just such a mess. Nowhere was this fact more on display than in the press and on social media. Erebor had lost its collective mind over Shire's meddling. They had just taken the kingdom back from Smaug, only to now find themselves taken advantage of by a tiny kingdom of little global impact. The palace, and his father in particular, had been heavily criticized both for getting into the contract in the first place and for not somehow, someway, finding a way to get out of it. The fact the deal had been reached by Thror without input or knowledge of anyone else in the family didn't seem to matter.

Thorin had been largely left out of the criticism, as no one believed he'd wanted to break off his engagement to marry a random princess he'd never met.

Kyra had received only pity. She'd always believed in having a public presence and had long been known to accept every invitation she could to charity events, to speak at schools, visit nursing homes, and the like. She'd once spent a day at a local animal shelter cleaning out cages and taking care of animals in an attempt to encourage more people to volunteer. The people of Erebor adored her, as well they should, and had not responded well to seeing her hurt.

Especially not when the woman now in Kyra's rightful space was apparently doing all she could to prove she was nothing more than a typical spoiled princess whose only thought was for her own entertainment and pleasure.

Bilba Baggins. Thorin couldn't bring himself to think of her as Bilba Durin, and doubted he ever would. That last name should have been Kyra's, would have been had circumstances been different. Thorin thought back to seeing the Shire princess on the stairs, cocky and unrepentant at having to be dragged back from partying with her cousin's stolen credit card. That, of course, was after her rampage through the halls of the palace, reportedly destroying whatever she touched in the mother of all temper tantrums, brought on by Eru only knew what.

He didn't know how the press had gotten wind of those events. He certainly hadn't told them but the very next morning the press in Erebor had been reporting on it, news shows had been discussing it and the palace had reported he was being swamped with requests for comment. None of the Shire reporters had mentioned it, oddly enough, and he'd chosen to keep his peace, preferring to simply get through it all, board the plane and return home as soon as possible.

He'd arrived to a crowd of angry protestors, who apparently hadn't truly believed what was going to happen any more than he had, demanding action but unsure of what that action should be. After getting back to the palace he'd thrown himself back into his work, and sparring with Dwalin, ignoring all interview requests and calls for comment.

That didn't mean he hadn't paid attention. Bilba Baggins had spent her last week in Shire not quietly visiting friends or trying to leave a legacy, but in having a good time. She'd shopped, given interviews of little to no substance leading to press speculation about her intelligence, driven people out of an amusement park by showing up unannounced and, apparently, managed to spend a hundred thousand dollars in a single week. The media had likened her to some of the more notorious of Erebor's nobility, and not in a positive light.

Thorin had no idea how she planned to behave once she arrived in Erebor but he did know she wouldn't be spending at the rate she currently was. Shire was already doing its best to leech all the money from Erebor's Treasury, they didn't need a spoiled little princess doing the same. Thorin had already spoken to his father and Balin and they'd decided she would not be given access to an account of her own. If she wanted money she would have to ask for it, and justify its need. He had no idea if she'd throw another of her tantrums, or react the way he'd seen spoiled nobility react in Erebor when denied something they wanted, but he had no intention of putting up with any theatrics. He wasn't the only one in the royal family and the last thing he wanted was her disrupting the peace, or being a negative influence on some of the younger, more impressionable members.

"I think you should just throw her in the dungeon and tell everyone she was kidnapped," an annoyed voice stated from just outside the shower and Thorin felt an amused grin tug at his lips. Speaking of impressionable members of the royal family...

He straightened and tilted his head back into the spray, before looking to his left.

His little brother was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and desperately trying to look as cool and unaffected as possible. At sixteen, Frerin was right in the middle of a growth spurt that no amount of food could keep up with. It had left him tall and gangly, with clothes that never seemed to fit quite right even with a professional tailor on staff. He wore his hair, lighter than Thorin's and without the irritating wave that caused reporters to speculate he permed it, shoulder length and generally tied back in a low ponytail.

"Just which 'she' are we talking about?" he asked, grabbing the soap off the small ledge it sat on.

Frerin gave him a frustrated look. "Don't act like that. You know which one. That _woman_. You can get rid of her and then you can marry Kyra like you're supposed too."

"No one's getting thrown in the dungeons." The water had heated up to just below scalding, right where he wanted it. It went even further toward relieving the tightness in his shoulders. It wouldn't last, but he would enjoy it while he could.

Frerin scowled. "Do you know what Kyra did while you were off doing that stupid farce of a wedding? She went to the hall you two were supposed to get married in and sat in the front row holding her dress. I heard Dis talking about it."

Thorin sighed, focusing on the wall and grimacing at the way his heart clenched. He didn't comment on Frerin apparently spying again. The kid hung out with Nori far too much. "I did know that," he said quietly. Dis had told him, angry at the injustice, though she'd appeared to feel remorse about it afterward. He knew he'd never have heard it from Kyra. She'd been trying so hard to not add to his distress, as if her pain somehow didn't matter when, as far as he was concerned, it was the only thing that mattered. He knew it was partly that she believed it would still somehow, someway, work out for them. The other part, however, was simply Kyra being Kyra. She never complained, and rarely got angry. Not even when it would be well deserved. Not even when no one would blame her. Like Thorin, she had stayed completely silent on the matter in the media, refusing all interviews and giving a quiet "no comment" to every question.

"Sorry," he heard Frerin mumble. "I didn't mean to be a jerk."

"It's fine." As much as Thorin was Frerin's older brother, Kyra had always been like an older sister. She'd been present at every birthday and holiday, traveled with them on every vacation and seeing her hurt was as bad for Frerin as if someone had hurt him or Dis or any other member of the family.

Thorin shut the water off and stepped out, taking the towel Frerin offered with a nod of thanks.

"So," Frerin hesitated, before pressing on in a rush. "What are you going to do? You're not just going to let this stand, are you? You and Kyra belong together. You know you do."

He sounded so earnest, and so trusting. As if his older brother could fix things simply by virtue of Frerin's faith in him.

Thorin had no answer for him so, instead, he simply dried off and dressed quickly in the jeans and t-shirt he'd come down in. Once he got back to his room, he'd change into something more befitting the numerous appearances and other duties he had on his schedule for that day.

Once he was done he threw everything into his bag, grabbed the handles and tossed it over his shoulder, holding it loosely in place.

"You have to do something," Frerin insisted, pushing off the wall to stand close to him. As Thorin started to move toward the door his brother reached out to grab his arm. "It's not fair!"

Thorin sighed and put a hand at the base of his brother's skull, pulling him close to rest his forehead against the teenager's. "It rarely is," he said gently.

And, with that, he left the room.

***

It was some time later that Thorin stood in front of a full-length mirror in his bedroom in dress slacks and shoes and a crisp, white shirt. He pulled a tie around his neck, fitting it under his collar and knotting it quickly. He'd decided against a waistcoat, which had led to a brief search through his desk drawer to locate an appropriate tie clasp. After using it to link his tie to the placket of his shirt, he pulled the jacket on, buttoned it and headed out into the rest of the suite. It included a kitchen for when he felt like cooking, a library, weight room and dining room for when he chose to eat in. His private room opened into a space originally designed to be a public receiving area for meeting with guests and visiting dignitaries. As Thorin rarely ever met with anyone in his rooms, he'd changed it into a living area complete with a massive flat screen television and fully stocked entertainment center.

As he headed toward the large double doors leading out, his eyes flickered toward the closed door on the other side of the room, and the anger started to rise once more. The doors opened into what was intended to be the private bedroom of the Crown Princess of Erebor.

Rooms that, by right, should have belonged to Kyra.

They'd been so close to their own wedding, and her officially moving into the rooms, that he'd already given her permission to design them as she wished. She'd spent hours in there with professional designers, picking out paint, fabrics and furniture. Literally every square inch of that room bore her signature.

Brimming with fresh agitation, he grabbed the handles to the doors leading out and wrenched them open, only to immediately freeze in place.

Kyra was standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for him. As always, the sight of her brought a rush of love and affection, lately tinged with pain and anger. Not anger at her, but at Shire and the Thain and everything that now seemed set against them.

As he pulled the doors closed behind him, Kyra smiled brightly and stepped forward. She was tall, nearly eye level to him, with a medium frame. Her strawberry blonde hair was straight and worn shoulder length and she had green eyes that that were complemented by thin framed glasses. She wore a tailored, turquoise dress suit with matching pumps and a white blouse under the jacket.Â 

He immediately opened his arms and she ran into them, squeezing him in a tight hug before releasing him and jumping back to hold up a tablet. "I have your schedule for the day."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Since when does one of Erebor's finest ambassadors carry around the schedules for pampered royalty?" he asked in amusement.

She rolled her eyes. "You're hardly pampered, and I'm far from one of the finest ambassadors."

"I think I can safely say the entire royal family of Erebor begs to differ," Thorin said dryly. Kyra came from a long line of ambassadors that had willingly followed the family into exile, and kept up their duties while gone. They had worked out treaties with other kingdoms, strengthened alliances and worked out contracts for food and supplies for Erebor's refugees. If Thorin's grandfather had swallowed his damn pride and sent one of _them_ to Shire, instead of doing it himself and trying to keep it secret, Thorin had no doubt they wouldn't be in this mess.

They headed down the hall, Kyra chatting about his schedule as they walked. Her voice was light and cheerful, but Thorin had known her far too long believe a minute of it. She'd lost weight, was pale and black bags under her eyes gave away her sleepless nights. Her hand was gripping the tablet so tight her knuckles were white and the device was shaking slightly in her grip.

Stopping dead in the hall, Thorin gently pried the tablet loose and set it at their feet before taking her hand in both of his to lightly massage it.

Kyra dropped her head. "Sorry," she whispered. "I should be better than this."

"I don't see how," Thorin said. "I've been kicking the crap out of Dwalin every day myself."

She gave a short smile. "Way I've heard it, it's gone the other way a few times."

"Spurious lies," Thorin replied with a straight face.

She looked up and gave him a hesitant smile, that faded instantly when she spotted the monstrosity on his ring finger. The rings they had picked out together had been simple silver bands. Thorin had designed her engagement ring, a ribbon of sterling silver that came together at the top in a filigreed swirl. In the openings of the band he'd set clusters of her favorite stone, sapphires.

She was still wearing it and he had no intention of asking her to remove it, much less return it.

"My father was concerned about a reporter getting a picture of me without it on," he explained. "I've been ordered to wear it." He grimaced. "You know how he is about the royal family's image."

"He's not wrong," Kyra said, forcing a smile and tearing her eyes away from the ring. "Erebor prides itself on its honor."

Noise came from the end of the hall and Kyra tensed and jerked her hand free from his, just as a servant bustled into view. Kyra started walking again and Thorin retrieved the tablet and fell in beside her, struggling against the resentment of no longer being able to so much as touch her without the risk of idle tongues wagging. "Perhaps someone could point that out to Bilba Baggins."

Kyra's brow furrowed as she reached to take the tablet back from him. "I wish there was some way to make the press lighten up on her."

"You're not suggesting we censor the press, are you?" Thorin asked wryly.

Kyra gave him a withering look. "Of course not. Just it would be nice if they stopped talking about her as if she were somehow the second coming of Smaug."

"She's done little to prove them wrong." They reached the end of the hallway and, without thinking about it, Thorin took her hand to help her as they descended the grand staircase. It was massive, and sported an elegant curve. The stairs were white marble, as were all the floors in the palace, with a wide gold and purple brocade runner in the center. The bannister was a mass of silver, gold and bronze worked ribbons, beaten and molded into designs depicting Erebor's victory over Smaug and the reestablishment of the kingdom some six years prior. All three metals had been twisted together for the handrail, which was a bitter note of contention for some, Thorin had been informed, as it apparently made sliding down them next to impossible.

Kyra rolled her eyes. "She's a fairly typical, spoiled noblewoman. It hardly makes her as bad as Smaug."

Thorin shrugged. "Perhaps not, until they compare her to you. Even the best of us look woefully inadequate."

Kyra looked away but not before Thorin saw her face turn bright red. "You're ridiculous," she huffed with affection.

They reached the ground floor and began to walk across the cavernous foyer toward the doors to exit the palace. They were equally enormous, and built from solid, thick iron. The original ones had been oak, carved and inlaid with gold, but after Smaug had destroyed them without trying it had been determined that perhaps security might forego aesthetic in the rebuild, if they ever got the chance.

They reached the front doors and Kyra stopped, disquiet. "You still don't plan to meet her plane when it arrives tomorrow?"

"I have other obligations." His duties hadn't stopped when he'd been forced to go to the Shire. They'd happily piled up in his absence and he'd been desperately trying to get back on track, while fielding new responsibilities as they cropped up, since he'd returned.

"There are going to be protestors." Kyra hadn't released his hand and looked up at him, worry in her eyes.

"It's not as if we plan to throw her out on the tarmac and make her walk to the palace," Thorin responded in exasperation. "Dwalin is handling security and Balin will meet her." He frowned. "Of all the people in Erebor, I wouldn't have thought to see _you_ defending her." The slightest hint of hurt crept into his voice as he spoke and Kyra's expression turned amused as she caught it.

"I'm not telling you to go all Prince Charming on her," she said with a small smile. "I just don't think she deserves to be vilified for being spoiled. Can you imagine the chaos if the press decided to go after every noblewoman, or nobleman for that matter, with a penchant for being silly, selfish, or a spendthrift?"

"I think we all bear responsibility for our actions, and the consequences," Thorin retorted. Kyra gave him a dry look.

"I think a lot of the blame has more to do with the Thain rather than her," Kyra insisted. "They're targeting her because she's going to actually be here, while he gets to sit back in his own kingdom."

Thorin had a feeling they were targeting her for the way she was portraying herself in the press but he kept his peace about it. He pulled the main door, the heavy object balanced so perfectly it slid open as if it weighed nothing. "You might not think that if you read some of the theories floating about."

"You mean the one where she was in love with you and concocted the whole thing herself to land you?" Kyra asked incredulously. "I'd have expected a little more throwing herself at you if that were the case."

"Then maybe she just wants the title, or wealth." Thorin pulled her hand onto his arm and led her out onto the wide front entrance. It was carved from white stone, large enough to hold dozens comfortably, and held up by two statues carved to look like past kings of renown. Shallow stairs ran all three sides of the platform, leading down to where a limo waited for them. Several other cars were parked in front and behind the limo and Dwalin was leaning against the hood of one, waiting for them.

Past him were the front lawns and gardens of Erebor, featuring an assortment of statues and rock pools. Several of the areas featured enormous geodes pulled from the mines Erebor was known for, cracked open and displayed so that when the sun hit them they were a burst of sparkling light and crystal.

The front gates and fence lay much farther off but, even from where he stood, Thorin could see the long rows of reporters who'd been camped out for what felt like months now. Ignoring them, Thorin led Kyra down and handed her into the limo before sliding in after her and pulling the door closed.

The windows were heavily tinted and a dark partition separated them from the driver, leaving them in their own, small, private booth. The back was fitted with a television, sound system and small area with food and beverages for longer trips.

Kyra settled on the bench next to him, tablet on the seat between them. As the car started, the television across from them snapped on automatically. It was displaying one of the morning talk shows, the graphics at the bottom showing the discussion was about him and Shire, as it had been on every talk show for months now.

"You have to at least admit," one of the hosts, a younger man with light colored hair and glasses, said, leaning forward in his chair, "The Prince has traded up. Princess Bilba is damn _hot_."

Kyra gave a small gasp beside him and Thorin swore viciously, lunging across the bench to snap the damn thing off.

When he settled back down next to her, Kyra was focused on her hands, which were folded in her lap.

"Kyra," he started to say, only to shut up as she cut him off.

"It's okay," she said softly, focused on her fingers. "It's not like that's the first time I've heard it, or even the sixth." The slightest hint of bitterness crept into her voice before she added, "Anyway, he's not wrong. She is very beautiful." She idly worried at the cuticle of one nail. She had a bad habit of biting her nails and kept them all cut short to try and break the habit. "I heard she's in ballet, so she's probably graceful too." She looked up, and the shine in her eyes and redness to her cheeks made Thorin want to go punch the idiot tv host. "Was she? Graceful?"

Thorin thought back to the only time he'd seen Bilba Baggins aside from at the altar. He had thought she was graceful, at the time, but that didn't mean she held a candle to Kyra.

"I suppose she was," he said, gently, "and she's pretty enough, but a lot of girls are pretty and graceful. You--" here he took her hands in his, "are beautiful, and graceful, and kind, smart, generous, and humble. There are a thousand girls out there who have the looks, but very few who have the substance. You've got both, and that's a rare thing."

Kyra's entire face went beet red and she looked down, one thumb rubbing lightly over the back of Thorin's hand. "I wish we'd just done what you wanted," she whispered, voice nearly inaudible. "If we'd just eloped back then..." she gave a shaky laugh. "Your father would be so mad, but we'd have been married and no one would have been able to pull us apart."

Thorin didn't answer, because there was truly nothing he _could_ say that would in any way make it better. After a second, Kyra's shoulders slumped and she settled back into her seat. Thorin didn't respond to the way she wiped her hand over her eyes, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it, but he did pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and hand it over to quiet thanks.

They sat in silence as the cars pulled out slowly through the front gates. They were swarmed at once by reporters, shouting questions at the car, but soundproofing had been installed that left it little more than a faint, muffled noise.

Thorin settled down, crossed one leg and his arms, dropped his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. He didn't mention to Kyra that he'd asked Ori to search through old records and law to see if there was any way to get out of the marriage, and alliance, without threatening the honor of Erebor. The last thing they needed was to give the other kingdoms cause to not trust in Erebor's ability to keep its promises. They'd only been back in power six years, after having been in exile nearly twenty. He and Kyra had been small children when the kingdom had fallen, and had watched their families fight to keep a good name as they relied on the charity of others.

If he could get himself, and Erebor, out of the mess his grandfather had left them in he would, but it would have to be done delicately. Ori practically lived in the library already and had been in charging of organizing the mess left behind by Smaug who, apparently, hadn't been much of a reader. If anyone could find something, she could, but he wasn't going to mention it to Kyra until he knew for sure. The last thing he wanted was to get her hopes up, only to crush them again.

He opened his eyes and absently watched the scenery pass by outside, feeling his spirits lift at the sight of his people happy and secure as they went about their day. Exile had been hard for everyone, both those who'd gone with his family and those who'd been scattered to the other kingdoms and struggled to start new lives. Seeing them now, with a home to call their own once more, made the struggles and hardships they'd endured worth it. Things weren't perfect, and they were still working on establishing alliances with kingdoms like Gondor, where they had zero inroads with which to approach the matter, but it was far better than it had been before the exile.

The car rounded a corner and he spotted the restaurant he was supposed to meet Dis at for breakfast. She liked doing the occasional public appearance, and by public she meant somewhere vetted, secured and with carefully selected people who'd undergone full background checks beforehand. The place would be effectively shut down for most of the morning but the uptick they would see afterward in customers wanting to be near where royalty had been would more than make up for it.

The outside of the building was already crawling with security and several streets had been blocked off, with ample notice given beforehand so people could find other routes.

The car slid to a smooth stop and Dwalin pulled the door open. Immediately an ocean cooled breeze washed over him and the smell of salt hit his nostrils. Distantly he could hear the clang of ship bells and a light, early morning fog, clung to the ground.

As Thorin got out he felt his shoes crunch on the sand scattered across the parking lot, carried in on shoes from the nearby beach. It would normally be a few more hours until tourists came out in force but, with word of their appearance, crowds were already gathered behind barricades waiting for them. They began to cheer as soon as he got out and he grimaced as the flashes of cameras held by the press went off.

The crowd began to shriek and scream as they spotted him and he put on what Kyra had always called his official face as he waved at the crowd and turned back to help Kyra out.

She frowned at him from inside the car. "I should probably just wait here, or go back to the palace."

"Nonsense," Thorin said, bracing one hand on the roof of the car. "We're still friends, and you're still an ambassador. You have every right to be here."

She looked unconvinced but took his hand and allowed him to help her from the car. As Thorin straightened and turned, he heard shrieks from the diner entrance and then saw twin blurs rushing at him.

They slammed into his legs a second later, resolving into his nephews, Fili and Kili. Kili, six and born around the same time the kingdom had been retaken, threw his arms up and shouted, "Swing me, uncle Thorin! Swing me!"

Thorin obediently went to one knee and put his arms up, flexing his biceps. Kili shrieked and wrapped his hands around Thorin's upper arm. He stood, lifting the small boy off his feet and grinning as Kili kicked his feet above the ground. Thorin began to sway in place, moving his arm so that the little boy swung back and forth gently. Kili shrieked as if it was the greatest thing in the world.

Raising an eyebrow at Kili's brother, Thorin asked, "What's wrong, Fili? You don't want to join in?"

The small blonde gave him a withering look. "I'm ten. Swinging is for babies."

"Ah," Thorin said, smiling as, next to him, Kyra did her best to disguise a laugh as a cough "I see."

He spotted Dis in the doorway, waiting for them and carefully put Kili down only so he could crouch and let the small boy clamber on his back. Using one hand to brace Kili, he held the other out for Fili, who gave him a suspicious look before carefully taking it as if Thorin were handing him a jeweled scepter.

Then, with a nod at Dwalin who'd taken up a spot next to him, the lot of them headed inside.

Somewhere, thanks to the time difference, Bilba Baggins was spending her last night in Shire, no doubt sound asleep and giving him as much thought as she'd done the entire week.

For the moment at least, Thorin decided to do his best to return the favor.

 


	9. Chapter 9

"We got you a going away present."

Bilba blinked in surprise. She and Rosie were sitting on the couch while Bofur sat in an armchair on Bilba's left. It was early, and they had only a few hours left before she had to be at the airport. None of them had been able to sleep.

Instead, she'd invited Bofur to stay, an action sure to cause more rumors in spite of Rosie's presence, and the three of them had watched romantic comedies all night. An odd choice, given the circumstances, but Bilba had always adored them. Bofur called the movies cheesy, predictable and melodramatic, and he was right, but she loved them all the same. When Rosie had started pulling out her favorites he'd given a long-suffering sigh and headed off to the kitchen to make popcorn.

That had been hours ago and, surprisingly, Bilba had almost been able to forget the nightmare that had been her week. They'd laughed, made fun of the sillier moments, critiqued plot points as seriously as if they were watching a biography, and thrown popcorn at the screen at appropriate, and inappropriate, times.

Finally, as dawn began to threaten, Rosie had jumped up and gone into her room, returning a few moments later with a large, wrapped package she'd plopped on Bilba's knees along with her pronouncement.

"You didn't have to do this--" Bilba started, only to have Rosie roll her eyes and cut her off.

"We know, we know," she waved a hand as if shooing the words away, "open it."

Bilba laughed, along with Bofur, at Rosie's antics. "When did you even have time to get me something?"

"Well, now, that's our secret," Bofur said, settling back in the armchair. "You're not the only one capable of being sneaky, you know"

Bilba gave an exaggerated eyeroll. Classmates at Bag End University had always complained of her ability to walk nearly soundlessly and to blend in to her surroundings. Bilba was pretty sure that meant they were calling her a wallflower but, as the description was apt, she couldn't much dispute it.

With a huff, she tore into the wrapping, and frowned as it pulled away to reveal a box with a laptop prominently featured on top. "You know I can't accept this," she said, looking at them wide eyed. "And, besides, I already have a laptop."

Rosie sighed and reached over to tug the box out of Bilba's lap. "What you have, Bilba, dear," she said, settling the box on her own lap and accepting a pocketknife from Bofur to cut through the tape on the flap, "is a paperweight with delusions of grandeur."

She got the box open quickly, Bilba noting it appeared to have been open already and re-taped shut, and pulled the shiny, metal object out. To her delight, a skin had been affixed to the cover, depicting a ballerina in the midst of a performance, ribbon and lace from her costume soaring about her as she twirled.

"Oh," Bilba breathed, leaning forward running her fingers over the image. "This is beautiful."

Bofur snorted. "I told you. We could have gotten her the cover alone and she'd have been thrilled."

"The cover doesn't have amazing features," Rosie said with a smile. She opened the lid and hit the power button. "We already set it up for you."

"Set up what?" Bilba looked between the two of them but both had decided to be mysterious and refused to explain.

Instead, Rosie let out a tiny shriek of happiness and spun the computer around for her to see.

For the second time, Bilba blinked in surprise. Filling the screen was the log in for Ravenhill, the cover screen featuring a black and gold scrolling design with a raven in flight splashed across it. The social media site had been created, ironically enough, by an exile of Erebor, designed initially to give fellow exiles the ability to connect and stay in contact no matter where they were dispersed throughout the world. The site had caught on and soon spread until it was a worldwide platform, as embedded in the fabric of society as any modern convenience or luxury.

"You," Rosie proclaimed proudly, "are now the newest member of Ravenhill _and_ you already have two friends."

"I only have two friends period," Bilba muttered absently. She lifted her eyes from the screen to give them both a wry look. "Hence the reason I don't have Ravenhill." She'd never had _any_ friends at all, in fact, until the two of them. Her Grandfather had moved her around from school to school so often she'd rarely been in one place long enough to move any relationship past acquaintance and, the few times she had, their luck had invariably and "coincidentally" gone bad until people had learned, no matter where they'd gone, to stay far, far away from her.

She'd been excited to finally graduate from school and, she thought, out from under her grandfather's thumb. She'd taken out loans, gotten financial aid and scholarships as needed and, for the very first time, had moved by her own choice to a place of her own choosing. She'd picked the college she wanted, the courses and schedule, the ballet company and had finally started _her_ life the way _she_ wished to live it.

She'd never expected to make friends.

Rosie reached up to where her email and a password were already entered into the log in portion. She hit enter before Bilba saw what her password was and the screen changed to the home screen for her personal account. The background was a light gray with a watermarked raven. The profile picture featured one of her favorite shots of her, Bofur and Rosie, arms thrown over one another's shoulders, laughing at some joke or another.

Bofur flushed and scratched the back of his head self-consciously. "You can change that if you think it'd cause problems, having me in it and all. You can get rid of me all together, in fact, if you think--"

"You're suggesting I have too many friends and should cut them by half?" Bilba asked with a faint smile. "I'm sure it's fine. We made it clear it was a ruse, no matter what the rumors try to claim. Besides, it's not as if I plan to add the press, or anyone else for that matter."

"Like the Prince," Rosie said with a nod. "We checked. He has an account but it's all buttoned up, almost as tight as I made yours." The last she said with a smug look that had Bilba giggling with fondness. As she looked at her two friends, she felt a rush of affection for them both that very nearly set her to tears again.

Both had had their lives upended, every bit as much as hers. They had reporters following them, people accosting them in the hopes of gaining a meeting with her, and their social media accounts had been flooded with requests by people hoping to achieve fame by association. It had been jarring, and invasive, and she knew full well it wouldn't die down just because she left.

Her vision blurred and suddenly she leaning forward to hug Rosie, and then Bofur.

"Thank you," she whispered, and hoped they knew she meant for far more than the laptop. They could have, probably should have, run the other way once everything had gone to pot but they hadn't. They'd stuck by her side through it all, which was more than she'd ever had from anyone, and certainly more than she'd ever expected.

When she pulled back she wasn't the only one with red eyes. Rosie brushed at hers with a hand before giving a shaky smile. "No one can see your profile picture and there _is_ more than one Bilba Baggins in the world so it's unlikely you'll get hit with a ton of requests, especially when the other Bilba Baggins' out there are probably already getting hit. They won't even notice you popped on."

"Especially when my surname should be Durin," Bilba said. Rosie's eyes grew slightly wide and Bilba hastened to add, "I'm not complaining. I certainly don't feel as if I'm a Durin." She'd never felt like a Baggins either but that was neither here nor there. "This will help throw people off. They'll be looking for Bilba Durin, Crown Princess of Erebor."

"The official one," Bofur added, making air quotes with his fingers.

"True," Bilba agreed. Celebrities had a golden raven next to their name to let people know they were the real person and not someone co-opting the name and likeness for their own purposes.

"Anyway," Rosie tugged the laptop away and set it on the couch. "Enough of that for now. I'll tell you the password so you can change it to something you'll like. Until then, however--" she leaned over to grab a DVD from the giant mound on the table. All were Rosie's movies as Bilba's belongings had already been packed and taken to the airport. Luckily, Rosie shared Bilba's love of cheesy romances and had a massive supply all her own. "What do you want?" Rosie asked, holding up two movies. "Mistaken identity or opposites attract?"

Bofur groaned and dropped his head back against the chair back. "Kill me now."

Bilba giggled and then reached out to snatch one of the DVD cases. "This one, I think. Do we have enough time to watch it?"

Rosie took it back to check the run time and glanced at the clock. "We do, if we get started right now."

"All right, then." Bilba flopped on the couch and then impulsively reached over to grab Bofur's arm and drag him to sit on her side, sandwiching her between her two best, and only, friends. Friends, she repeated to herself firmly as Bofur sat down and her heart jumped in her chest. Her friends, and nothing more. "We best get started then."

***

It was over far too soon.

The sun rose, and it was time.

Rosie and Bofur were not going with her to the airport, at Bilba's request. The place would be a madhouse with reporters, well-wishers and people who simply wanted to see it. She'd be busy checking through security, speaking to reporters and doing her very best to pretend she was a blushing bride on her way to her exciting new life. She'd have no chance to speak with Rosie or Bofur and their presence would greatly increase the risk of her breaking down and bawling like a child on the tarmac. Not exactly the image her grandfather would appreciate and one sure to bring down his ire on her friends as she'd be out of reach.

She stood at the door hugging them until she risked being late, and promised to contact them as soon as she'd arrive. Then the door was closed and she was standing in the hallway, alone. Her fingers clutched the laptop, hugging it to her chest like a shield, as she struggled to get her legs to move.

She tried to swallow past the jagged rock in her throat, and shivered as the temperature seemed to plummet in the narrow hall. Her legs felt leaden and a wave of dizziness washed over her, bringing spots to her eyes.

She didn't want to go.

The hallway to the stairs stretched ahead of her and she had the sudden, irrational thought she was on her way to her own execution rather than the airport.

The urge to knock on the door and tell Rosie and Bofur she'd changed her mind and desperately wanted them to go with her flashed through her and she knew full well they _would_ go if asked. They would go, and their presence would make the media and public scrutiny of them even worse, and would ensure it lasted even longer.

Bilba Baggins very much wanted to be selfish. She wanted to ask her friends to go with her or, better yet, simply not go at all. She wanted to forget about the alliance and her grandfather and the fact that Shire would probably go into financial collapse and ruin without the support of Erebor.

Bilba Baggins wanted to throw it all away in favor of simply staying where she was and doing what she'd been doing and living her life the way she'd wanted, and chosen, for the very first time.

That was what _she_ wanted.

Bilba Durin, Crown Princess of Erebor whether she liked it or not, knew her duty. Letting out a slow breath, she tossed her hair back, lifted her chin high, and through sheer force of will, strode down the hallway.

The Crown Princess of Erebor did not look back.

Bilba Baggins, laptop clutched against her chest like a lifeline, did.

But only for a second.

***

It was a whirlwind after that.

Bilba moved in a haze, through a maelstrom of light and sound. Her grandfather was persisting in the notion that she didn't like security so she had little but her driver and Lila to keep the hounds at bay.

As expected, what felt like half the kingdom had come to see her off. Hobbiton was a small place with an equally tiny airport and Bilba felt a flash of guilt for the chaos her departure must be causing for other travelers, as well as the disruption to the normal peace and quiet of the area. She could have left from the capital of course, with its international airport and laid-back attitude to an array of leaders and celebrities coming through, but it would have meant dealing with her family coming out to see her off. The last thing she wanted was the added stress of trying to pretend they were all one, big happy family, and she especially didn't want to deal with her grandfather who, undoubtedly, would have had some last-minute threats to whisper in her ear with a big smile and a false hug as if he were wishing her all the best.

So she'd chosen Hobbiton and, as expected, her family had regretfully begged off, citing their schedules and overall importance to the country as reasons they couldn't make the two hour trip to watch as she left the country for possibly the last time.

Hobbiton's small police force did their best to keep people outside the fence, but more than a few got through and joined the enormous crowd of reporters clustered around her. Quite a few were female, some of whom appeared to be screaming at her that Thorin was clearly fated to marry them and she needed to deliver their love letters to him and then step aside. As everything had happened in a week, Bilba hadn't really had a chance to start getting the mail most royals were used to, but she had no doubt it was coming and that a good amount would express similar sentiments. There were always people fascinated by royalty or celebrities, followed by those who did the best they could to meet their favorite stars. All those people were fine, Rosie was one of them. The problem was the small segment of the population that became convinced they had some sort of connection, or even ownership, over a certain celebrity and took it very personally when said star didn't return their affection, or when they gave their affection to someone else.

Somewhat to her surprise, or maybe not when she thought about it more, the journalists surrounding her did not appreciate random people thinking they could get close to her. They closed around her in such tight ranks that Bilba could no longer see anyone past them, much less the few people who'd jumped the fence.

Still, she could hear them, far closer than was comfortable. She wasn't used to being threatened, and had no stomach for confrontation. The screaming had her breathing increasing and her body tenser than it had already been. She could feel herself trembling slightly from nerves and desperately hoped it wasn't enough that it was visible on camera.

Erebor had sent a plane, after the Thain had insisted the royal planes were all in use and he didn't have one to spare, and Bilba had fully expected them to send one of their diplomatic planes and give her a seat amongst returning ambassadors and a press corps that would hound her all the way to Erebor. That would be if she were lucky and Erebor's disgust with her grandfather didn't lead to them simply sending her a plane ticket, to a seat in coach.

She was rather shocked then, to reach the tarmac and see the very same plane Thorin had traveled in. The feeling faded almost immediately, however, as she realized it was merely diplomacy at play, no different than what her grandfather would have done. It was important to look good.

There were two burly looking men standing at the bottom of the stairs and, with a nod to Lila who was already turning away to begin her live shot, Bilba boarded the stairs and began to walk up. She'd worn a sundress and heeled sandals and had put her hair into a high ponytail but none of it was helping against the near stifling heat that had already set in. Shire was a temperate climate but it had its occasional temperature swings and this day was clearly one of them. Already sweat trickled down her back and she could feel the hair at the base of her skull sticking to her neck. She was looking forward to getting into the air conditioned interior and quickened her pace toward the door. She'd barely made it two steps when she heard shouting behind her and looked back to see one of the more vocal fence jumpers, a young, petite woman with ash blonde hair, rushing at the stairs.

"I have to go!" she shouted, trying to shove her way up the stairs. "I'm _perfect_ for Thorin, don't you understand? We have all the same interests, and hobbies!" Her eyes locked onto Bilba's with a malice in them that made her heart jump. " _She_ doesn't deserve him. I'm prettier than her anyway!"

She started forward, as if to move between the two men at the bottom of the stairs, and Bilba stiffened. Personally, she'd be happy to hand the Crown Prince of Erebor over to one of his adoring fans, though perhaps not this one. She didn't want the marriage any more than he did, but that didn't mean she wished him any sort of harm. Before the woman got close the men closed in on her, pushing her back with ease. Not waiting to see what happened, Bilba spun back and forced herself to walk up the stairs in as dignified a manner as possible. She'd received enough training at least, in schools and ballet, to know better than to slouch or scurry like a frightened mouse.

Behind her, the woman continued to shriek insults but they barely registered. It wasn't anything Bilba hadn't heard before. Her family had made her shortcomings very, very clear to her over the years, particularly in regard to her physical appearance.

Clutching her laptop even tighter, she entered the airplane, nodding at the woman in a uniform waiting at the entrance. Had it been her grandfather, the inside of the plane would have been devoid of anyone other than the pilot but, to her surprise, she spotted a number of people walking about, none of whom appeared to be reporters.

A male flight attendant approached, gave her a bow barely deep enough to be respectful, and turned his back with a curt, "This way, Princess."

Bilba nodded and allowed him to guide her to a forward compartment where several rows of luxurious, padded seats sat empty. It was similar to the small, personal jet her grandfather had, at least according to the pictures she'd seen, but this was an entire plane and she was curious to know what else it held. Several of the seats were placed around low tables and she chose one of these to sit in, sitting next to the window and placing her laptop on the table. There was a seatbelt set into the seat and she clicked it shut over her lap as she heard the door to the plane being closed.

They took off soon after. Gravity pressed her back lightly into the padded seat and Bilba felt her stomach drop as they lifted off.

Bye, she thought with a trace of bitterness, and clenched her jaw as tears threatened. The last thing she wanted was to cry now, in front of strangers. No one had said a word to her since she'd sat down and, as they reached cruising altitude, it became clear no one planned to. That was fine, she preferred it to the alternative. The flight before her was going to be long and she'd much rather spend it ignored than berated.

A quiet sound signified she could take off her seatbelt and she did so, relaxing into the seat for a second. As the adrenaline from the morning began to wear off, fatigue started to set in, reminding her that she'd spent the entire night wide awake. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing. It was morning in the Shire but, thanks to the time difference, it was evening in Erebor. It'd be best if she could find somewhere to lie down and hope she could get started on adjusting her internal clock.

She carefully got up, picked up her laptop, and stepped into the aisle. She briefly considered asking a crewmember for a tour but thought better of it. It was a plane, after all, and she was the highest-ranking person on it. There was no place she wasn't allowed and it'd be impossible to get lost.

She went to the door set in the back of the compartment, past the now sealed door leading outside. Grabbing the handle, she sent a quiet prayer there wasn't a horde of reporters lying in wait, pulled it open, stepped through, and promptly froze in amazement.

There were no reporters. Instead, it was as if she'd stepped off the plane and into someone's house. The room she stood in was a living room, plush white carpeting, sofas and coffee table, and a massive entertainment center. A rug featuring what she guessed was the Durin family crest dominated the floor. The windows had been covered over in paneling, giving the impression she had left the plane all together and entered a high end, luxury home.

She wandered through, finding bathrooms she was sure were larger than her apartment, a fully stocked kitchen and multiple bedrooms with enormous beds piled high with pillows and blankets. Each had a sitting area with a television and a private bathroom. The crest was embossed on the top blanket for each bed and she spotted it in other places as well, on dishes in the kitchens, seat backs around the dining table and monogrammed on towels and dish cloths.

The kitchen was tempting. Bilba hadn't eaten breakfast and had only had popcorn the night before and then the ice cream from the failed amusement park trip. In the end, however, exhaustion won out and she decided to go for the kitchen later. She'd be on the plane plenty long enough to both sleep and eat.

She headed back into the nearest bedroom, almost groaning with relief at the sight of the bed. Unlike the rest of the area, there were windows in here but she ignored them as she set her laptop down on a bedside table and kicked off her sandals. The beige carpet was thick and soft and she gave herself a second to dig her toes into it before climbing onto the bed. Without even bothering to pull the blanket down she flopped on top and let out a sigh, muscles relaxing as she sank into the thick mattress.

She was out in minutes.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Bilba dragged herself from the depths of sleep like one clawing up the sides of a very deep well. When she finally forced her eyes open she felt groggy, her arms and legs weighed a ton and she was entirely confused about where she was.

A few minutes passed as her body worked its way to full consciousness, and Bilba frowned as she realized she _still_ didn't recognize the curved, cream colored ceiling overhead.

She pushed up carefully onto her elbows, and immediately felt her heart sink as memory crashed in.

She had so been hoping it had all been a terrible dream and she'd wake up safely back at home with Rosie obsessively watching news footage of royals and Bofur knocking on the door to take her out for coffee and a walk in the park.

With a sigh, she got up and grimaced. Her hair was lank and sticking to her face on the side she'd been sleeping on and she felt generally grimy and gross. All her belongings were packed in the cargo hold, including the rest of her clothes, so she couldn't change but she decided to at least shower and try to freshen up a bit. The last thing she wanted was to appear on the Erebor news looking like a bedraggled waif.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand to find she'd slept a full eight hours and still had a few left before they arrived at Erebor. Plenty of time to shower and, hopefully, find something to eat before her stomach decided to stop asking politely and simply begin snacking on her spinal cord.

She wandered into the attached bathroom, and rolled her eyes at the opulence. It was a plane after all, meant to get you from Point A to Point B. Was it really necessary to have a Roman-style, marble and glass walk-in shower _and_ an adjoining spa?

A flash of guilt hit as soon as the uncharitable thought crossed her mind. Wasn't she the one afraid she'd be trapped in Coach, surrounded by reporters for the entire flight? She should be happy they'd sent this plane, public relations stunt or not, and not gone the route her mind had feared

She closed the door, gratified to see it had a lock as she didn't fancy anyone accidentally, or otherwise, walking in on her, and undressed. She folded her dress carefully and stepped into the shower. It took her a few minutes to figure out how the thing worked but, once she did, she quickly decided she had been missing out in life.

The shower was _amazing_. It had multiple jets lining the walls, with strong enough pressure that she was sure she wouldn't have to sit under the spray for half an hour in the hopes shampoo would eventually give up and leave on its own; and anti-slip tread whatsit in the floor that served a dual purpose as a foot massager.

She'd intended to take a quick shower but ended up standing under the spray for a good fifteen minutes simply relaxing instead. It was only the eventual thought that she was on a plane and thus had a finite supply of water, particularly the heated variety, that finally got her moving.

The shower was already stocked with soap and shampoo, both of which thankfully had pleasant, neutral scents and washed quickly, before the shower convinced her to just stand still again, for another few hours.

Once done, she regretfully turned the water off, stepped out and grabbed a towel from a stack sitting on shelves near the door. After that it was a hunt through the drawers of the massive vanity until she found a blow-dryer and, with a cry of joy, a straightener.

It took forever to dry the wet mass on her head, and even longer to straighten it, but it was the best she could do. With everything packed she had no access to her hair products and, without them, it was straightening or risk it frizzing out to several times its size upon drying naturally or by the blow-dryer. It'd be bad enough once she reached the humidity of Erebor, situated as it was right on the water, and the last thing she wanted was to give Beatrice an excuse to send her a mocking email. Her cousin made it a point of pride to always look flawless, and made it a further point to constantly declare what an utter failure Bilba was in the same aspect.

She didn't even _see_ her cousin very often and yet, somehow, someway the woman always seemed to know any time Bilba had a spot on her shirt, mismatched socks or a hair strand out of place. Given her grandfather's current penchant for turning the media against her, Bilba had a feeling if she miss-stepped her arrival he and Beatrice would make a meme out of it and send it circulating online.  

The Durins, who considered honor and appearance and name so important, would be mortified and certainly lock her in a tower then, if they hadn't decided to already.

The thought of her uncertain future once she arrived in Erebor erased the relaxation she'd gained from sleeping and the shower in an instant. Her gut clenched and, in the mirror she'd been fixing her hair in, Bilba saw the faint smile she'd been wearing slowly fade from her lips. Around her the silence, which she was usually able to ignore through long years of practice, seemed to yawn wide, threatening to swallow her whole in an instant if she let it.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Bilba dropped her eyes. She unplugged the straightener, set it on the counter with a hard clatter, dressed quickly, and left the room. She retrieved her laptop and headed out into the main living section of the jet.

Once there, she kicked her shoes off on a whim, letting her feet sink into the plush carpet, and set the laptop on a glass topped coffee table bolted to the floor in front of a cream-colored couch running along the wall. It was set before an entertainment center with massive cupboards on either side filled with all manner of DVDs, games and what appeared to be the latest version of every game console currently in existence.

The movies were an eclectic mix, suggesting the tastes of multiple people had gone into choosing them. There was no way to tell which were Thorin's, if any, but she did spot a few she knew, and liked. Choosing one, she loaded it into the player which, thankfully, was simple to figure out. Pretty soon she had the menu screen up, music swelling through the space as it waited for her to hit play.

Instead, Bilba dialed it down until she could barely hear it, sending a nervous glance at the door into the rest of the plane as she did. So far, no one had bothered her and it was her hope that, if she stayed quiet and out of the way, it would continue. Her grandfather had always been eccentric in when and how he would come after her but one way to guarantee such unwanted attention was for her to do something to remind him she existed. She'd learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with him was by staying as quiet and out of the way as possible. If she were very, very lucky that approach would hold true here as well.

She went into the kitchen after that to make herself a sandwich. She could cook, having learned through necessity, but didn't feel up to preparing a full meal. After cleaning up after herself, she dug out a soda from the fridge and returned, gingerly, to the couch. She'd left condiments off the sandwich and had picked a soda that was clear so if anything spilled it wouldn't leave a stain on the couch or the white carpet underneath.

She settled back to watch her movie, pausing only long enough to return to the kitchen and wash the dishes she'd used and replace them, as well as head back again to make sure she'd left the bedroom and bathroom as spotless as possible.

Eventually, a check of the clock showed they should be nearing Erebor so, with her stomach churning and her body tense, Bilba put the DVD back, shut down the TV and player and headed into the front of the jet. A few crewmembers passed her as she headed up but none of them gave her so much as a second glance.

She settled into a window seat again, placing her laptop on the table in front of her. Directly outside the window, the rising sun had lit the ocean below in a firestorm of color matched only by the sky as it tried desperately to compete. There were no clouds to block her view and she tried to imagine the various sea creatures they were probably flying over, swimming fathoms below where there were no worries over alliances, forced marriages or the possibility of being locked in a tower forever.

A slow sense of panic crept over her at the thought of how close they were. She simultaneously wanted it to never come, and to just be over with, all at the same time. A chill ran over her and the sandwich she'd eaten turned sour in her stomach. Would anyone notice if they did lock her away? In Shire, eventually _someone_ would have noticed. The public at large had held no real animosity toward her, just simple apathy. They might not have noticed her disappearance right away, but she was certain, or at least hopeful, they would have noticed one day.

The press would certainly have noticed, eventually, and would have asked questions. Her grandfather controlled most of the news in Shire, granted, but he didn't control _everything_. He couldn't hold down every reporter, every small newspaper and station, not without showing his hand. Someone would have started questioning it and if the public had caught wind, it would only have grown.

But that was all back in Shire now. Would the public in Erebor care one way or the other if she were to disappear? Would the press question it?

Leaning forward, she grabbed her laptop and powered it up, fingers shaking as she pulled up her online server and ran a search on her name and Erebor.

She immediately wished she hadn't.

Her eyes went wide and she could feel her body tensing as her eyes ran over articles, filled with awful, hateful things about her. Seeing a few videos, she fished out the headphones Bofur had given her that she'd shoved in a pocket of her dress, and hit play on a roundtable discussion about the personal and political ramifications of the Heir's forced marriage.

 

It made her sick.

 

Literally. She could feel nausea bubbling up her throat, the acrid taste of acid in the back of her mouth. A light sweat broke out on her forehead and her body began shaking as the vile words flowed from the headphones.

 

The people of Erebor _hated_ her.

It was not too strong a word. If anything, it wasn't nearly strong enough.  She'd known they wouldn't be happy, one would have to be an idiot not to know that, but this? This was so much worse than anything she'd ever imagined.  She was _reviled._ Loathed. _Detested_. Whatever the word, that was the feeling and, possibly, more than that.

They were angry at the old king, Thror, for getting them into this mess, but he was dead and gone past their reach. They were angry at her grandfather for forcing the issue, but he was in Shire, and a king, so also past their reach.

Most of all, however, they were angry on behalf of Kyra. The more Bilba read on the woman, the more she felt her shoulders slump in resignation. She'd never thought to gain the love of the royal family or the public, but had hoped to at least gain their respect. Reading about the woman she was inadvertently, and unwillingly, replacing Bilba could see there was no chance of that ever happening.

Thorin's ex-fiancée was freaking _perfect_. Not classically beautiful from the pictures, but certainly very pretty and always put together even more flawlessly than Beatrice. Bilba couldn't find a single picture of the woman with so much as a hair out of place. Her clothing was always immaculate; her manners were poised; she always knew the exact right thing to say at any given moment; she attended, and was invited, to every charity benefit and dinner. In addition, she was a diplomat with a number of impressive negotiations and achievements under her belt.

The people _loved_ her, had watched her grow up, and sighed in happiness at the fairy tale romance between her and Thorin Durin. Spotting a thumbnail picture of Thorin and Kyra at a function before her grandfather got involved, Bilba pulled it up and winced at the adoration practically spilling from Thorin as he gazed at the other woman.

Eyes suddenly burning, Bilba slapped the laptop lid closed and shoved it off her lap. She curled up as best she could on the seat and looked out the window, trying to discretely wipe a traitorous tear off as it threatened to boil over from her eye.

She would have no safety net in Erebor.

No apathetic public to eventually wonder where she'd gone, no neutral press or, at least, no small-town reporter or station hoping to make a name by questioning where she'd gone. No Rosie and Bofur to try and raise a stink over her disappearance. Oh, they might try in Shire but she highly doubted her grandfather would let it go that far, and it certainly would make no difference in Erebor.

She was the other woman in Erebor. A homewrecker for all intents and purposes who'd burst onto the scene and destroyed a romance for the ages.

They would probably celebrate her disappearance.

Her breath hitched and she mentally cursed as her eyes filled more than she could handle and a few tears spilled out against her will. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she curled on one hip, drawing her legs up to more fully face the window. The _last_ thing she wanted was for the crew on the plane to see her crying. They'd probably mock her for it, or tell her she deserved it for destroying the Prince of Erebor's fairy tale engagement.

She could always try to tell them her side. About how it had been all her grandfather's doing and she'd had no part in it. How she'd been happy where she was, and had lost her own romance that, while not as long or maybe as deep as Thorin's, had been every bit as real.

She could, but she highly doubted they would listen. She was the outsider, a stranger bursting into a home and demanding help for a papercut while a family member bled out on the floor. She was never going to reach them, not now anyway when they were still at the height of their outrage and looking for someone to blame. The only thing she'd achieve was angering her grandfather, endangering the alliance and the safety of her friends, and drawing unwanted notice.

 

Notice.

 

Behind her, she heard a crewmember walking down the aisle and stiffened, but the person simply moved past and was gone into the back of the plane.

Bilba chewed on her lower lip, and wrapped her arms around her torso as her breathing began to slowly return to normal.

Maybe...maybe if she did the same thing in Erebor that she'd done in Shire? If she just stayed out of their way, disappeared on her own in a sense, didn't cause any problems or fuss...maybe they'd leave her alone? It had usually worked back home where, granted, there hadn't been the hate and vitriol but, still...

If they'd just give her a chance.  A chance to prove she didn't want _anything_. That she had no designs or interest in Thorin Durin, or his throne or power or anything else and she just wanted to be left alone.

She hadn't checked into colleges and dance studios in Erebor's main city out of fear she'd find there weren't any, but maybe...if there were...

Maybe she could get a scholarship or financial aid like she'd done to get into Bag End University, and maybe she could find a small dance studio that would let her join and maybe...maybe...

It was an awful lot of maybes, and they all centered around the Durins giving her a chance to prove she could stay out of their way. For all she knew, they planned to march her straight into the palace, into a tower, slam the door behind her and leave her there to rot.

It's what her family would have done, had done, a few times. They'd only let her out for fear of what the public might say if they ever woke up enough to notice.

There'd be no such concern in Erebor.

Still, if she _were_ given the chance, she didn't plan to squander it. It'd be an opportunity to start over, away from Shire and without the threat of her grandfather looming over her. There wasn't much left he could do to her, and certainly not with her in Erebor and him in Shire. He could still go after Rosie and Bofur or a few of the other people she'd met while at Bag End University but she doubted he would care enough to do so. As long as she kept her mouth shut, whether by her own choice or the Durins, and stayed out of his way he'd have no reason to come after her, or her friends.

In the distance, outside the window, a flicker of light caught her eye and Bilba shifted on the seat, pushing up a bit to try and get a better look. It grew steadily closer until she saw what looked like a long ring of bright, silver buoys bobbing quietly on the water. Each held a long, narrow spike jutting up toward the sky. As they bobbed, she could see flickers around them, prisms of light flashing in the sun like so many multicolored facets.

Arkenstone.

Erebor's most zealously guarded secret, and the reason they'd been able to retake the kingdom. No one knew who had created it, or even how exactly it worked, so closely did the Durins protect it. There had been nothing about its development during the exile, not so much as a whisper amongst the various spy networks.

The first anyone knew of it was when the Durins and their allies had launched a surprise attack on their stolen kingdom. They'd arrived at night via ship, evading Smaug's forces through subterfuge and still unidentified help from the inside.

The forces had arrived wearing personal shields the likes of which no one had ever seen. Bilba had watched the video from the battlefield six years earlier, as it seemed everyone had It had been global news, the exiled Durins declaring war against the usurper of their throne and fighting to take it back. For days, the focus of the world had shifted to Erebor, eyes glued to the news feeds. Bilba had been at one of her many private schools and remembered the television wheeled into the room, broadcasting live footage and updates of the battle. It was quite literally history in the making, the war over the soul of Erebor.

It had been no contest in the end, not with those shields. They'd glittered like the prisms she was seeing now, making it easy to tell who was on the Durins' side and who was on Smaug's. Nothing could penetrate them, making the forces of the Thain and his allies near unstoppable. They'd taken back their mountain, and driven the enemy from their homeland. Smaug had been struck down by Thrain and, just like that, the kingdom had been restored to her rightful rulers.

The world had exploded after that, every kingdom demanding the technology for themselves. When Erebor had refused, a global conference had been called, to discuss the threat Erebor now posed to the other kingdoms in possessing such technology. Bilba had found it ironic. When Erebor had fallen, every kingdom had distanced itself, and refused to help retake it, but once Erebor had done the deed themselves suddenly everyone wanted to be involved.

In the end, a compromise of sorts had been reached. Erebor had put the buoys in place, self-shielded to prevent sabotage, and capable of creating a domed shield over the entire kingdom, effectively ensuring she could never again be taken by outside forces. In return, the royal family destroyed all personal shields, as well as any data concerning their creation. They agreed, reportedly, about the dangers of such a device falling into the wrong hands as well as the concern other kingdoms had over Erebor having such a strategic advantage that they did not.

There was no way, of course, to prove Erebor had done as they'd promised and, naturally, the presumption was the creator was still around and could easily make more but it was the best anyone could do. Anything further would give grave insult to Erebor, treating them as if they were some sort of real and present threat, just waiting for the opportunity to invade.

In the end, it came down to Erebor's honor. As long as she held herself above reproach, and behaved in a way that made the royal family appear to be utterly trustworthy, honorable, and in possession of the highest moral values and ethics, then no other kingdom could push the continuing existence of the Arkenstone shield. No one could argue for the name of the creator or insist the technology be shared with the other rulers.

The plane passed over the buoys, winking in the sun beneath her. All had large lights on the tips and Bilba saw the ones directly below blink on suddenly, a brilliant red, undoubtedly triggering a sensor in the kingdom itself to let them know something was on its way.

They were beginning to descend and she lifted her eyes to watch as Erebor itself came into sight.

It was so very different than Shire, she thought as the kingdom rapidly came into view, enlarging from a distant shape to a defined landmass.

Erebor, unlike Shire, was an island or, more accurately, a group of islands. The largest, located on one edge of the group, was where the palace and main city, as well as several others of various sizes, were located. The landmass was enormous, dwarfing all of Shire and big enough that, were you to live far enough inland, it'd be easy to forget you were on an island at all. There were several fresh water lakes and a river system, partly natural and partly manufactured, ensuring water made it to every part of the landmass.

Several of the other islands housed smaller cities or towns, all of them connected by wide roads capable of supporting heavy volumes of traffic. As they drew closer, Bilba caught sight of a small, rocky looking island on the far outskirts of the primary cluster. There was no road connecting it and none of the boats currently bobbing in the water were anywhere near it.

Gundabad, Bilba remembered from her studies. Home of a violent, warrior race known as the Orc. They had long considered themselves the sworn enemies of the Durins, and pretty much everyone else, but Erebor was closest so they started there. They had rejected every overture of peace ever offered and, during the invasion all those years ago, had allied themselves with Smaug. When Erebor had been retaken by the Durins, the Orc had been driven back to their ancestral home where they had, so far, remained quiet. If she recalled correctly, Thrain had tried to make still another overture of peace by extending Arkenstone around Gundabad but they had rejected it, trying to claim Erebor was attempting to somehow cage them rather than protect them. Thrain had moved the buoys in response, locking them out of its security perimeter. Since then, they'd attempted, on occasion, to destroy, steal or sabotage the buoys but couldn't make it past the shields, or the equally shielded chains locking the buoys to the ocean floor and ensuring they stayed in place.

The plane began to bank and a light flashed overhead, telling her to put her seatbelt on. Bilba obeyed, straightening in her seat once more, but kept her eyes locked outside the window.

As they passed low over the city she caught sight of the palace, and gave a quiet gasp of surprise. She'd seen pictures, of course, and even video but could now see none of it did it justice.

The palace was built on the top of a tall, solitary hill at the edge of the city, backing onto a part of the coastline.  It dwarfed Shire's palace, a thought which brought a burst of amusement at the memory of how proud her grandfather was of the place, covering the entire top the hill in acres and acres of stone, glass and sheer ostentation. The sight of no fewer than six towers brought a jolt of fear and Bilba quickly jerked her eyes away to focus on what seemed like miles of gardens and walking paths. The hill curved at the sides and was sheared flat in the back, forming a cliff down to the water below. As they flew over Bilba caught sight of a very narrow strip of sand, bordered by rock on both sides, and wondered if it was used as a small, private beach for the royal family.

She had no more time to contemplate as it, and the palace, were quickly behind them as the plane made for the airport. Several minutes later, as she felt the slight bump of the wheels on the tarmac, she nearly let out a sound of protest. Her heart was hammering in her chest as they taxied to a stop, her breath freezing in her lungs and she was so tense she worried she might not be able to get up at all. 

A large part of her wished very much she could stay on the plane, and perhaps it would behave like an amusement park ride and take her back to where she'd begun. Somewhere behind her came the sound of the door opening and the smell of the ocean hit her, followed closely by a rush of much colder air than she'd been expecting. She'd looked up the temperature in Erebor before she'd left but could see now she'd failed to take into account how the wind passing over the cold waters of the ocean might affect it. The air bit into her bare arms and legs, letting her know just how poor a choice she'd made in wearing a sundress.

She could almost hear the scorn such a poor decision was likely to bring about in the press but was surprised to feel little concern about it. After all the things that had already been said about her, having her fashion choices criticized was rather trivial.

"Your Highness?" the voice sounded annoyed, and was said through gritted teeth as if pulled out by some great effort.

Bilba looked up at the slender woman standing over her, dressed in the same uniform the other crewmembers wore. "Yes?"

The sound of her own voice startled her, and it occurred to her the last time she'd spoken had been in Shire. Once, before she'd met Bofur and Rosie, it had been quite common for her to go days without saying a single word. She'd been used to it then, and now she would get used it to it again.

"If you're ready to disembark?" the woman raised an eyebrow, and her tone was snotty and more than a little sarcastic. Bilba guessed she'd been standing there a few moments without Bilba realizing it.

"All right." Bilba undid her seatbelt and gathered her laptop again, clutching it against her chest like she'd done back in Shire. The woman had already turned her back to walk away, which proved a blessing as it meant Bilba didn't have an audience as she stood, only to have a wave of dizziness wash over her and nearly send her back into the seat again. She braced herself with one hand on the table, grimacing as her legs buckled for an instant before she could lock them into place again.

She could do this. She'd done it before, just recently in fact after her grandfather had locked her in the tower for her little tantrum after the wedding.

She could do this. Even if it was the last sight she'd have of freedom.

Her grandfather would be watching, she told herself firmly, and she had no intention of letting him see her falter.

_"Why weren't you in the car?"_

The words her grandfather had thrown at her, hinting at something she'd long suspected but been unable to prove. He'd destroyed her parents, in every way imaginable, for no other reason than spite. Because they'd had the audacity to fall in love. Because her mother had the audacity to make her own choices in life.

Anger ignited in her veins, burning away, for the moment at least, the fear and tension. If she were very lucky, perhaps it would see her all the way to the end.

Taking a breath through what felt like a straw, she put steel in her spine, gritted her teeth and lifted her chin. She strode forward, keeping her eyes forward with the intent of looking past the mob of reporters undoubtedly waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. She didn't have Lila or the other territorial Shire reporters here but, hopefully...her mind faltered on what, exactly, about her situation could be considered hopeful. She finally decided to simply ignore it and forced herself out the door of the plane and onto the first step of the waiting stairs.

She expected a mob, screaming voices and the flashes of cameras in her face.

What she got...was nothing.

The bottom of the stairwell was empty, as was the space around it. Overhead she could hear the distant chop of rotor blades and a glance upwards revealed a number of helicopters, all giving the jet a wide berth and so far up she couldn't make out the writing on them to tell what news agencies they were from.

The tarmac itself was deserted but for a long limousine. A man in a black suit stood on one side of the open back door while a short, elderly man with a thick white beard and hair stood on the other side.

Bilba was so utterly thrown off by it all she simply stood there, mind trying desperately to reorient itself to not having to brace against a crowd of angry reporters dragging bulky equipment with sharp corners. She still had a few bruises from the ones in Shire but most were hidden under her clothes, at chest level where cameramen, holding their cameras at waist level to change location or shot had shoved against her and, on a few occasions, darn near cracked a rib or two.

A breeze wrapped around her, lifting her hair and wrapping her skirt around her legs, and Bilba raised her eyes to see the back gates and fences of the airport. Past it, the ocean spread out in all directions and she sucked in a sharp breath, briefly mesmerized by the sight.

Someone cleared their throat pointedly, and she jerked and saw the elderly man had moved to the bottom of the stairs.

"Your Highness," he said formally, bowing at the waist. "I've been sent to escort you to the palace, if you're ready."

"Of course." Bilba ducked her head, feeling her face heat with embarrassment at having kept the man waiting. If it were her grandfather, he'd have sent someone horrible to collect her, wanting to make sure she understood how truly unwanted she was. She had no idea if the Durins had done the same but wasn't about to take a chance by treating the man in any manner other than absolute formality and as near perfection as she could get. He would report to the Durins on her just as those in the Shire palace, all the way to the cleaning staff, had reported on her to the Thain. She'd never found peace in visiting a palace, and didn't see it starting now.

She moved down the stairs carefully, using one hand on the handrail to keep her balance. Tumbling down the stairs and landing with a splat on the ground would probably cause her to die of embarrassment on the spot.

She highly doubted perfect Kyra would ever have such a thing happen. According to how the papers described her, Bilba imagined the woman probably floated from planes on a beam of pure sunlight, to the sound of a chorus of angels heralding her arrival.

The thought was beneath her, especially considering the woman had to be in tremendous pain over her broken engagement, but Bilba still had too much anger in her to feel shame. She would, she imagined, later, but right then all she could see was the woman being darn near sainted for her suffering by the press and public while they prepared to burn _her_ at the stake.

It was unfair, and she got that. She knew the problem was her grandfather, and her own bumbling inexperience, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. Right now, she was angry enough, if no longer stupid enough, to go on another destructive tantrum. So, really, if she wanted to engage in a bit of self-pity then she damn well would.

She certainly knew better than to expect pity from anyone else.

The elderly man was speaking, but she hadn't been paying any attention and had no idea what he'd said. He showed her into the back of the limo and climbed in to sit on the bench seat facing her. As he shut the door, Bilba was startled at how completely the sounds of the airport from outside were shut out. The compartment must be near soundproof. A trill of fear cut through the anger as she recalled the windows had been tinted as well, making it impossible to be seen from the outside.

Why? The only time her grandfather would resort to an utterly soundproof car with windows this dark would be if he wished to threaten someone, or have them threatened by someone else. In Shire, he'd sent her in a limo with enough tinting and soundproofing to make it look to the public like he cared but, this, this sort of a car would only _ever_ be reserved for one thing and one thing only.

Instilling fear, without worry about being seen by the public or the press.

She'd seen others get into such limos.

Once they'd returned, they had never again spoken a word against her grandfather.

Bilba had been inside one, once and only once. It was just after she'd written an essay on her grandfather at school, innocently describing how he really was instead of how he liked to portray himself.

She hadn't known any better.

Her parents had died only two months earlier.

 

She'd been ten.

When she'd gotten back she'd quietly informed the teacher she'd made it all up, and had silently stood and listened as her grandfather spoke of her imagination, and acting out due to her grief.

How it was being dealt with and wouldn't happen again.

It hadn't.

The elderly man was talking again but she couldn't hear him over the loud roaring in her ears. Clutching her laptop so hard the edges dug into her arms, she pressed against the door of the limo as it pulled away, pressing her forehead against the glass to look outside. Her breathing was shallow, heart thudding in her ears, and it took everything she had to not show any of it.

Her grandfather did not approve of showing emotion, except fear when in his presence, and that was like showing weakness to a snake about to strike. Not showing fear was bad too, but at least it earned her a tiny modicum of respect, of wariness. Showing weakness, however, that was a death sentence. She would never come back from that.

Just like her grandmother had never come back.

The thought came entirely out of left field, blindsiding her from out of nowhere and her mind wrenched away from it, so fast it nearly gave her mental whiplash. She bit back a silent curse.

Yavanna, where had _that_ come from, and why now of all times? She gave her head a slight shake, as if it could somehow physically dislodge the memory from her mind permanently, and focused outside again.

They were approaching the gates of the airport, and now she saw the reporters, and the crowds past them. Protesters, hundreds of them, if not thousands, lining both sides of the streets. Many held signs, most directed at the Thain or Shire in general but some at her. The white-haired man was speaking again but she didn't hear him, attention focused on the crowds as the car made its way out onto the street. There were barricades lining both sides of the streets, and armed guards standing before them, in full riot gear, facing the crowds head on.

Bilba tensed as they left, expecting the crowds to rush the car, and some tried, only to be shoved back aggressively by the guards.

Her eyes caught on a few of the signs as the car picked up speed, accusing her of all sorts of awful things. Some had a grain of truth to them, as lies often did, such as those accusing her of having been in a real relationship with Bofur, as if that meant anything. They'd both been single and it had ended with her marriage, willing or not.

One sign, in particular, that she spotted just before the car sped up enough to blur all the words accused her of being little more than a harlot, which was simply ridiculous. She'd never been with anyone in that way, Bofur included. They'd kissed of course, but never taken it farther. Both had been focused on their schooling, and Bilba on her ballet and their relationship had just never seemed to lead that way, regardless of how often they'd found themselves alone in one another's company. She and Bofur had been...comfortable, and easygoing, without pressure or expectation and perhaps it had lacked the passion or whatever it was that Rosie insisted relationships should have, and did have according to the movies, but Bilba had been content. She might love romantic movies, but they were just _movies_. Real life did not always afford passion. Sometimes, it simply provided companionship and there was nothing wrong with that. She'd loved Bofur and been satisfied in how things were between them. After a lifetime of being almost always alone, it had been far more than Bilba had ever expected to have.

The car started to slow and she saw a gate being opened ahead of them. Past it the way was clear of reporters or protestors, the road inclining sharply as it started its way up the hill toward the palace. There were gardens and paths on both sides and Bilba felt a longing to walk them and explore the various plants and flowers. She spotted several hedge mazes, fountains and at least one gazebo she'd love to curl up in with a good book. They also passed a number of statues and large rocks that had been split open to reveal crystal interiors, some already sparking as the sun hit them.

The car slid to a stop in front of the entrance to the palace, featuring two large statues of what she assumed were ancestral kings, and white stone steps leading to a front porch like area that could probably easily fit an entire orchestra if one were so inclined.

The sight of the iron doors, more at home in a dungeon than a palace, brought another sense of disquiet. She was about to find out once and for all what they planned to do with her, and the thought made her want to run in the other direction as fast as possible, all the way to the ocean to swim back home if she had to.

Where her grandfather would promptly lock her up in one of _his_ towers before shipping her right back to Erebor again.

She sighed, wishing, not for the first time, she could have been born as a normal girl in a normal family, and not a pawn on the chessboard of a madman.

A door closed and she jumped and turned to see she was alone in the back seat. The elderly man, she realized, had been speaking most of the way to the palace but she'd been far too nervous, and distracted by what was going on outside, and her own nerves, to pay any attention. It had probably simply been threats of what would happen if she didn't obey, like what her grandfather would have done had positions been reversed and a Princess of Erebor come to Shire. The elderly man hadn't tried to hurt her, however, so she took that as a positive sign. Her grandfather would have slapped her or pinched her or something, just to show he could, but maybe here if she shut up and kept to herself...

She started to reach for the door handle, only to gasp in surprise as it was pulled open by the limo driver. The elderly man, who she was sure must have introduced himself at some point meaning she couldn't ask his name now without revealing how little she'd heard, waited at the foot of the steps again, this time leading into the palace.

Bilba followed him quietly, through the iron doors and onto the marble floor of the palace itself. From there it was up a grand staircase and then down so many halls and around so many corners she doubted she'd ever find her way back. At first, her stomach was in knots as they went up, but once they reached a certain floor and she saw no signs of further staircases, she started to relax fractionally. If they planned to give her a room of her own it meant she'd have her chance, an opportunity to prove to them she could stay out of their way just as she'd done in Shire with her grandfather. It hadn't done her much good in the end there but that was because she'd been a pawn and he'd called her into play.

Here, she was just Bilba and of no particular use to anyone.

"Ah, here we are," the white-haired man said, leading her through a set of doors and into a room she barely took note of. He stopped in front of another door set in the wall. "I'll leave you to get settled and relax a bit."

Bilba nodded, and then stood awkwardly as the man stared at her, apparently expecting something but she had no idea what. Finally, he gave another bow and excused himself, leaving the room and heading back into the hall.

Bilba grabbed the handle on the door, pushed it open, and promptly felt her jaw drop.

The room beyond was larger than her apartment. In fact, she was certain it was larger than her grandfather's room in the Shire palace. This couldn't be right. They couldn't have meant to put her here. Hoping that being in the wrong room wouldn't be held against her, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Unlike the marble she'd been led across so far, the room was carpeted in a plush beige, up to a pair of marble steps that spanned the back of the room. These led to a marble slab upon which, to her surprise, rested the boxes containing all her belongings. Apparently, this was the room she was meant to be in after all.

Windows lined that wall, giving her a view of the ocean outside while two glass doors in the middle appeared to open onto a balcony. Thick, burgundy curtains framed the doors and windows, and matched the canopy, pillows and blanket on the Queen-sized bed. The furniture was done in a darker wood and an area off to the side featured a burgundy couch facing a large TV and entertainment set. Gold accented the room in various throw pillows and frames around artwork featuring plants, as well as in the vases and other knickknacks about the room. Clearly, someone had been going through a love of burgundy and gold when they had designed this room. It wasn't to her taste, but it was beautiful in its own right.

The attached bathroom looked very much like the one on the plane with the exception that the spa was bigger and set into the floor like a small pool, and she nearly clapped her hands in delight at getting to have a shower like the one from the plane all to herself.

Deciding to examine the room she'd been led through initially, she went back out the door and found herself in a large living area complete with another entertainment center and a full kitchen. She explored it for a few minutes before heading toward a door opposite hers, on the far side of the room. She pulled it open, and instantly slammed it shut again, heart jolting in her chest.

It had been another bedroom, a man's bedroom from the decor, and one clearly lived in judging from the clothing items and other personal belongings she'd seen strewn about.

Feeling a sudden sense of panic, Bilba turned on one heel and nearly ran back into her room, slamming the door shut behind her and fumbling the lock closed. After, one hand still on the lock and the other on the door, she sagged against it, resting her forehead on the wood and shaking slightly.

Thorin Durin. It had to be Thorin Durin's room. There was no reason to put her in a room adjoining a man's unless that man was the one she'd unwillingly married.

 _What_ in the world had possessed them to do that? She'd expected a closet at best, and the tower at worst. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought they would put her in the quarters for the wife of the Crown Prince of Erebor.

She barely remembered him from Shire. Everything had been such a blur, all light and sound and chaos. Even during the interviews, when she'd technically spent the day with him in the room, she'd barely looked at or acknowledged him. She had the vague impression of him being tall and she knew from photos he had dark hair and was unfairly attractive but that was about it. Her mind went back to the photo she'd seen online, of him gazing in adoration at Kyra.  

Yavanna, but he must _hate_ her.

Even more than the people of Erebor did. He had to despise her and now they'd put her in the room he'd expected to one day have Kyra in?

Wait. Almost woodenly, Bilba straightened and walked over to her laptop. Opening the lid, she called up a search engine and typed in a short query.

_What is Kyra Lundair's favorite color?_

The screen blanked for a second, and then happily provided her the answer, courtesy of the woman herself being asked it in an interview.

 _Burgundy, followed closely by gold_.

Bilba nearly threw up.

They'd put her in another woman's room. _Kyra's_ room, designed and personally decorated by her. Why? To punish her? Make sure she didn't lose sight of how much suffering Shire had caused?

Remind her of her own inadequacy?

The room was beautiful, and every inch what Bilba would have expected the room of a Princess to look. It was nothing like how she'd have done it. She preferred lavender and cream, more rustic looking furniture, and artwork featuring landscapes over portraits of plants and pottery. Her vision would look perfect in a simply country home, but not in a royal palace, in the room of a Princess.

Suddenly unwilling to be in the room for another minute, she pushed up and nearly ran to the balcony doors, shoving them open, and darting outside.

"Oh," she whispered, as her feet hit the marble of the balcony. In front of her stretched a waist high railing comprised of slender balusters and a wide, flat top. Past that lay a stunning view of the ocean. She caught sight of another balcony on the far side, probably for Thorin Durin's room, but thankfully empty. On the far end of his balcony, and the far side of hers, the rock walls of the cliff rose, craggy and filled here and there with bits of moss and other plant life.

A thought occurred to her and she leaned over the balcony railing, holding on by her hands under the edge and lifting her feet off the ground to get a better view.

Down below was the thin strip of beach she remembered seeing from the plane as they'd soared over. Waves lapped on the shore and she made a mental note to find out the tides and check if they ever came in far enough to cover the sand.

The sand butted up against a rocky slope jutting out from the cliff face and Bilba very nearly shrieked in joy at the sight of stairs leading up from the beach to that slope. She followed them to a flat landing carved out of the rock, where the stairs restarted but branched, one leading up to Thorin's balcony and the other up to hers.

She leaned over farther, spotting where the steps stopped at the base of the corner of her balcony, near the rock of the cliff, and scrambled back to go take a closer look. It only took a few seconds to find the latch in the stone railing that swung out a small section to allow access to the stairs.

There was no railing to them but the slope was gentle enough that she should be able to traverse them without too much difficulty. Kicking her shoes off to provide better purchase, Bilba stepped out and noticed that a number of the steps were cracked or in poor condition. She wondered absently if anyone even remembered they were there. The exile had been long after all and, though she didn't know him, she still somehow couldn't imagine the Prince caring enough about the view of the ocean to come out and look long enough to see the stairs. There were no chairs or tables on his side, suggesting he didn't make much use of it.

The stone was cold under her feet, almost as cold as the air around her, but Bilba barely noticed as she lightly skipped down the steps, arms out slightly from her sides to keep her balance. She reached the landing, and noticed the rest of the stairs down to the beach were in even worse condition than those above. Still, she should be able to make it if she were careful and at least she didn't have to worry about cameras if she were to take a tumble here.

She picked her way carefully until she stood on the beach itself, toes digging into the sand. The area was shaded, the cliff walls blocking out the sun except for, she imagined, a thin slice of the day when it was overhead, but she could see its light on the waves just past where the walls jutted into the ocean.

It was a perfect, isolated little cove. She looked over her shoulder and noted the landing would be hidden from overhead, even from the rooms above hers, unless someone were to lean over and look directly down, and why would anyone bother to do that? She could just picture herself curled up in a chair on that landing with a good book and a pitcher of lemonade, feeling the sea breeze on her skin and listening to the crash of waves on the shore.

Oh, but she could be happy. If they left her alone, if she could prove to them she wouldn't be any trouble.

She could be happy here, if they just _let_ her.

She picked her way back up to that landing and settled on it, feet on the first step beneath, and stared out to sea, sighing as the first sense of peace she'd had in a while settled over her.

It was decided, she thought. She would do her very best to be invisible, as much as she'd ever been in Shire and maybe, _just_ maybe, the Durins would let her be. They hadn't put her in a tower, which was a blessing she'd never expected and one she knew could be rescinded if she stepped out of line.

She didn't plan to screw up. She would be the quietest, most unnoticed, royal anyone had ever seen. Maybe, if she were good enough, the Durins, and even the public and press, would do the one thing she'd always wished her grandfather would do, forget she'd ever existed.

Maybe then she could make her own choices, start her path over again, find her way in a new place without the constant threat of her grandfather hanging over her head.

Maybe.

Just... _maybe_.

***

"You're sure?"

Balin nodded, bowing his head respectfully as Thrain spoke. "Yes, your Majesty. I was very clear about the time."

Thrain frowned, settling back in his seat until the wood creaked. Around him, the rest of the royal family sat in silence, empty plates before them and covered dishes waiting to be served lining the center of the long table. "And you waited how long?"

"Several minutes," Balin replied. "And I knocked quite loudly. There was no response."

"It's possible she just fell asleep," Kyra said quietly from where she was sitting on Thorin's left. Directly across from him was the seat she'd used to occupy, now empty with still another place setting. Thorin had not been looking forward to it being occupied. "It was a long flight, and it's a significant time change between Shire and Erebor."

"She slept on the plane," Thorin almost growled. He'd already been given the report by the head stewardess and pilot. The pilot had little to say as he'd been in the cockpit most of the time but the stewardess had reported the Shire Princess had been standoffish and borderline rude, locking herself in the living quarters and not coming out until the plane descended. They had checked on her at one point to find her sound asleep in one of the bedrooms.

"Still," Kyra insisted, "it's a big change."

"I did knock quite loudly," Balin said, the slightest hint of defensiveness in his voice. "And it wasn't so very long after showing her in. I informed her half an hour, if she fell into that deep a sleep in that amount of time--"

"The fact she fell asleep at all suggests she had no intention of coming down," Thorin cut in.

"That isn't fair," Kyra murmured beside him, but Thorin simply shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to be fair. Life certainly hadn't bothered being fair to him, or Kyra, of late.  

"She probably expects a personal invitation," Frerin suddenly chimed in. "I was watching the news. One of the crew said they had to personally ask her to get off after the plane landed and then she made Balin go up to the stairs at the door. I was looking outside when they got here, too, and she made--"

"Someone open the door to the car for her?" Kyra asked. "That's called expectation of basic manners, your Highness." There was the slightest hint of censure in her voice and Frerin's mouth snapped shut, cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the rebuke.

"Still," Dis broke in, gesturing for one of the servants lining the wall to come forward and begin serving. "We can't wait forever." Her eyes flickered to Fili and Kili, sitting one either side of her and nearly salivating as they stared at the covered dishes.

"Fair enough." Thrain waved a hand at Balin to dismiss him. Generally, he and his brother, Dwalin were invited to later meals as they were related to the royal family, but breakfast was always reserved for the immediate family. "If she fell asleep then she can join us for the next meal. If not--"

"Then I have no intention of issuing her any personal invitations," Thorin said shortly, reaching for his napkin and pulling the heavy cloth through the ceramic ring around its middle. "She's an adult. She can figure things out for herself."

Balin gave a short nod and left while the rest of them dug into the food. As they did, Thorin frowned at Kyra. "I still don't understand why you insist on defending her," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear him.

She shrugged, eyes on her plate. "It's not me being as altruistic as you might think." He saw her frown, and a flash of what looked like mild guilt flashed in her eyes. "I figured if I befriended her she wouldn't mind so much if I wanted to stay around you all." She nodded toward the table at large. "I'm not family, after all. I shouldn't even be here, especially not--"

Thorin reached over to grip her leg for a moment in reassurance. "You've always been family, and you always will be. You have every right to be here."

She gave him a weak smile, a sheen of moisture in her eyes, before she got control of herself and focused on her food again.

Thorin turned to his own plate and tried very hard not to think about the unwanted guest currently staying in rooms that should have been, and were as far as he was concerned, Kyra's.

"Did you happen to catch the name of the crewmember on that interview?" he asked Frerin, hoping to change the subject and get his mind onto other topics.

"No," Frerin said, eyebrows drawn together as he tried to remember, "but I'm sure it'd be easy enough to find out. Why?"

"Because he's going to fire him," Dis said shortly, handing a full plate to Kili and grabbing another to put together for Fili.

Thorin gave a short nod. He didn't care who the royal had been on the plane, or what had been said in the interview.

Erebor did not employ people who prattled about the private lives of the royal family to the press. Period.

 


	11. Chapter 11

"I think we'll have to pause there," Rosie's voice, slightly tinny and very exhausted, came through the speakers of the laptop.

Bilba covered a flinch of guilt as she reached to hit pause on the movie and then stopped her screen from sharing to Rosie's computer. The small box that held her friend's image maximized to fill the screen and Bilba felt a second spike of guilt at how tired the other girl looked. It was almost noon for Bilba, which meant it was around midnight for Rosie, on a night when she had an early class the next morning.

Bilba pushed up from where she'd been leaning against the headboard of her bed and leaned a little closer to the screen. "Sorry, I should have stopped it earlier."

Rosie shrugged. "It's fine. I could have always said something." She scowled. "At this rate, it's going to take us forever to get through one movie."

"At least we know we'll have something to do," Bilba said with a forced laugh.

Rosie frowned in suspicion. "Speaking of something to do, how goes your brilliant plan?"

Bilba's smile faded. Her eyes drifted over her room, several times the size of the near closet she'd been forced to stay in while visiting the palace in Shire, or the tower she'd been forced into on occasion. She'd never had so much space and, given her experience with staring into nothing for hours at a time without going insane, had been perfectly convinced she'd never run out of ways to pass the time.

How very wrong she'd been.

Her eyes tracked across the rumbled bedding, extra pillows thrown on the floor with piles of clothes tossed haphazardly about. A pile of cardboard boxes was stacked precariously in a corner, leftover from unpacking. A gauzy white curtain lay on top, a victim of her attempting, and failing, to practice her dancing on the raised platform that led to her balcony doors.

Through the open door into her prized bathroom she could see towels laid out to dry alongside the clothing she'd washed in the sink, after sneaking out after dark to pilfer soap and toiletries from other rooms in the palace. Luckily, for her, Erebor kept even its empty rooms fully stocked which made finding what she needed simpler. It was about the only thing in her life that was simple at the moment.

She'd never dreamed it would be this way. She'd thought of the worst-case scenario, and thought she'd ended up in the best case scenario.

Instead, she'd ended up in purgatory.

She'd spent the first few days after her arrival almost exclusively on her little beach, brainstorming her plans and running them by Rosie. It wasn't easy. Rosie had a full schedule with work and school and avoiding the media, and then there was the whole-time zone difference, but they made it work as best they could.

Rosie had not been in favor of her plan, but had begrudgingly helped her work out the finer points when she'd realized how committed Bilba was. It had been a week by then, and Bilba had been convinced she'd never been so bored, even in Shire.

How naive she'd been.

Her plan would have worked gloriously in Shire, had worked in the past. She was a master of sneaking out of her room there, moving about the palace unseen and returning with others none the wiser. After her forced wedding, she'd made it to all of her aunts' rooms and Beatrice's rooms without being caught and had then gotten out of the palace itself and all the way to the airport. She'd have escaped entirely if it hadn't been for her grandfather effectively kidnapping Bofur.

She didn't have that concern here. She also didn't plan anything so dramatic as fleeing the country. Bofur and Rosie weren't here but they were still under her grandfather's control, and the alliance was still important.

So she'd be staying here, but it was all right because she had a plan.

Her first step had been to convince the Ereborean royals to leave her alone. That was easy enough as they didn't appear to want anything to do with her. Granted, she'd spent most of her time on her beach and, therefore, could have missed any number of knocks at her door but given the fact that the staff hadn't even bothered to come in, she highly doubted there had been any.

It worked out even better than in Shire where her family would often seek her out for no other reason than to torment her. Here, she didn't have to worry about any sort of connection that might cause them to look for her, for good or ill. She was a stranger, another random person living in the palace. The royal family had full schedules and did not have the time or inclination to personally look in on every person currently staying in the palace.

A plus for her, and one so easily achieved it had given her what turned out to be overly high expectations of the future success of the other phases of her plan.

She'd soon discovered just how very wrong she'd been.

The second part of her plan had involved getting to and from the kitchens without being noticed, and retrieving enough food to stockpile in her room so she didn't have to go every day but not so much as to be missed. This part had been a little harder and, really, that should have been a tipoff but she'd still been riding high on not being in Shire and having phase one go well. She'd _noticed_ it was harder, but hadn't paid it much mind outside the initial thought that whoever ran Erebor's security was a paranoid bastard.

As good as they were, however, it didn't mean they were perfect and, of course, there was no planning against a Princess who'd spent her life learning how to avoid security. Evading guards, and poorly placed cameras, was second nature to her. Of course, the cameras in Erebor's palace were far from poorly placed but whoever had set them had made two critical errors, fixed motion sensors and dimming the lights in the corridors once the castle bedded down. Once she learned the boundaries of the motion sensors and where the darkest shadows lay, it was child's play to avoid them.

The guards had taken longer, so long in fact she'd almost, _almost_ broken down and simply asked for someone to bring her food. She'd stuck it out, however, unwilling to risk the chance that reminding people of her existence would ultimately hurt more than help. She'd also firmly believed that no matter how good the rotations were, and they were _scary_ good, human nature was human nature and that nature trended toward the familiar, toward patterns. Once she'd finally found them in the guard rotations it was relatively easy to find her way to the kitchens and back, and it had only gotten easier as time had passed.

So, so much time.

Her stomach sank and Bilba looked away sharply as tears stung the corner of her eyes.

"Bilba?" Rosie asked gently from the computer. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Bilba's voice wavered as she spoke, giving her away, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance.

Rosie sighed. "You don't have to keep doing this. Just take a chance and go talk to someone. Maybe your husband for instance." The last part she said low and mumbled but Bilba caught it and resisted rolling her eyes.

Rosie had been pushing for her to give the Durins a chance from the start. Bilba knew her friend just wanted her to be happy and not languishing in self-imposed exile, but she couldn't stop the resentment and often outright irritation whenever the other girl brought it up.

For one thing, Rosie had nothing to lose by it. Bilba could end up being all right, or she could end up being thrown in a tower for not keeping herself out of sight and out of mind. It was a fifty/fifty chance and not one she was willing to risk.

At least not anymore. On that first day, after she'd outlined her plan to Rosie, the other girl had made quite the convincing argument for Bilba at least greeting Thorin when she heard him enter the common part of their suite. They were bound to run into one another, living so close and sharing most of the apartment as they did, and Rosie had hoped the two of them might at least be friends.

Bilba had let the other girl talk her into it and had made sure, when evening arrived, she was dressed to impress. Too nervous to go and knock on his bedroom door, she'd sat quietly on her bed with her door closed and waited to hear someone in the common area.

She'd finally heard a door and, taking a deep breath, had gotten to her feet and forced herself to her bedroom door. She'd grasped the doorknob, taken a second to take another deep breath and smooth down her dress against the butterflies racing in her stomach, and had started to turn the knob.

Only to immediately freeze at the sound of voices from the other side.

One male.

And one female.

She could only assume it was Kyra, particularly when she heard the same woman's voice twice more that same week, and the following week and the one after. From what she could tell, the woman wasn't staying the night, in spite of having to enter and leave through Thorin's private chambers, but the fact she was there at all was insulting, and wildly unfair. Bilba had broken things off with Bofur and the two of them had gone a step further by coming to the mutual decision to only communicate via email. It added another layer to the distance between them, in addition to the physical distance. Chatting by video, or even instant message, creating a risk of them discussing things better left unsaid, and forming an emotional bond that wouldn't do either of them any good. Bilba didn't like the thought of Bofur eventually moving on and meeting someone else, but she liked the idea of him wasting his life pining after her even less.

She hadn't told Rosie about what happened, and let the other girl think she was unwilling to try. Telling Rosie would serve no purpose aside from making her angry. Instead, when it became clear that Thorin and Kyra would be hanging out in the common room several times a week, Bilba had dedicated those evenings to trying to work out the last, and most important, part of her plan.

Sneaking out of the palace.

She'd done searches online and found that Erebor's capital city did indeed have a very good university. It ran on a cycle similar to Shire's, meaning it was too late to enroll for the current term, but she'd been confident she could get all her paperwork filed and everything ironed out in time to start the new term in the fall.

To her even greater joy, however, her searches had revealed Erebor's capital was also in possession of a dance studio. It was several times larger than the tiny one she'd belonged too in Hobbiton but there had been a page talking about auditions and she was hopeful they might at least give her a chance. She didn't expect to join and instantly be a star, or even be in a show. She simply loved dancing and would be happy with anything they let her do.

She had no idea how she would be received, given the public's current extreme dislike of her, and had considered trying to hide her identity but none of it would matter at all unless she could find a way to sneak out of the palace and go visit.

She'd assumed she could do it. She'd done it in Shire and she'd found her way around the security inside the Erebor palace so how much harder could it be outside?

 

Hard, as it turned out.

 

She'd been trying for a month.

 

A full month, and she was no closer to finding a way out than she'd been when she started. The security outside the walls of the palace was _insane_. Guards everywhere she looked, cameras, motion detectors and a wall without a single nearby shrub or tree for cover and not so much as a chip in the brick to provide a hand or foothold.

There was no way to get out without finding a ladder, dragging it through the front window she usually clambered out of, hauling it across the lawn and down to the wall and even then she doubted she'd be able to reach the top to get over, much less get down safely on the other side.

"I'll figure out something," she said noncommittedly to Rosie, who frowned.

"Bilba--"

"It's fine," Bilba said, cutting her off. She managed a more genuine smile this time. "It really is, Rosie. I haven't given up yet. I'm going to figure it out."

Rosie didn't look convinced but she didn't argue when Bilba bid her farewell and signed off. Once the screen was dark, Bilba let the smile fall off her face. Her shoulders slumped and she looked around her room in resignation.

In a way, she'd ended up in a tower after all.

One of her own making.

She got listlessly to her feet and headed out to her balcony. The day was overcast and a brisk wind blew loose hair off her shoulders. She'd dressed warmly this time, jeans and a chunky sweater and sturdy boots so it didn't cut near as much as the first time she'd stepped out. She'd thought, at one point, she could never get tired of this view or being out here.

Turned out any view could get old if it was the only thing you ever saw, and feared it would be the only thing you ever _would_ see.

She pushed open the little gate at the edge of her balcony and headed down the stairs, bypassing the ledge she usually sat on and continuing down to the beach itself. The stairs ended just a foot or two above the sand and she paused to remove her shoes and socks before jumping down to sink her feet in the fine grains.

The rush of the water racing on shore was loud, broken only by the cries of unseen gulls. Slowly, Bilba felt the tension start to drain from her shoulders as she watched the water bubble in and then slowly drain back out again. She'd spent quite a few days searching for shells and splashing in the water and walked forward again now, until the water rushed over her feet. The cold had her gasping and her toes curling into the wet sand.

When the tide was in it covered the tiny beach all the way to the base of the stairs but only to about calf deep and she'd sat several times on that last step and splashed her legs in the water while she read a book. When the tide was out, as it was now, it almost doubled the size of the beach, uncovering sand all the way to the tip of the rock wall, though the waves crashing into it dissuaded her from trying to find out way around it.

She wandered out slowly, until her feet sank in the wet sand and water pooled around her ankles. Far out to sea, she could see the distant outline of a ship sailing merrily along and felt a stab of jealousy at its ability to go where it wanted, when it wanted.

She sighed and shut her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves and tried to imagine she was a mermaid who could simply dive into the water and go wherever she wanted without concern to alliances or idiot princes or any other worries.

Something rubbed against her ankles and she jumped, biting back a shriek as her eyes flew open. A meow, that almost sound apologetic, sounded from her ankles and she looked down to see a small, tortoiseshell cat standing at her feet, tail in the air and head lifted to look up at her.

"Oh, hey, you," Bilba knelt and rubbed the small cat on the head. The small animal purred and then happily allowed Bilba to pick her up where she curled in her arms, tiny motor rumbling. "I was wondering where you were."

The cat had shown up toward the end of her first week there, curled up in a ball on the ledge where the stairs converged. She was clearly well taken care of, and very friendly, and Bilba had utterly no idea where she came from, where she went, or how she got there in the first place. She couldn't be scaling the rock walls, and there was no way down except from Bilba's room, or Thorin's but she wasn't coming from there. Her paws and belly were sometimes damp when Bilba saw her but not to the point where she thought the cat was swimming in. Bilba had tried watching her but she'd made the mistake of petting and feeding the small cat, which meant she had no desire to leave when Bilba was present and, no matter how much she tried to pay attention, Bilba never seemed to see her arrive. She'd stopped trying after a while, simply happy to have a little companion to spend time with.

Turning around, she started to head back toward the dryer part of the beach, only to stop as the cat's ears perked and her head came up.

"What is it?" Bilba asked. She knew cats had crazy good hearing, but couldn't guess what the small animal might be listening too.

Without warning, the cat suddenly shifted and began wiggling to be put down. Bilba obeyed and watched in surprise as the cat bounded back into the wet sand.

She approached the wall...and suddenly wasn't there anymore.

Bilba blinked, and then blinked again thinking perhaps her eyes were deceiving her. The scene stayed the same, however, stone wall and no cat.

Hesitantly, Bilba followed the small pawprints in the wet sand, out to where the rock bulged in one spot before tapering off toward where the stone ended. Water squeezed out from under her toes as she walked and filled the small prints, partially erasing them.

So focused was she on the prints that she very nearly ran into the wall, only pulling up with a gasp at the last second, head jerking up to find stone inches from her face.

Except...there wasn't stone.

It was shadowed, and the rock folded in a strange way, creating an almost optical illusion that, from a distance, she knew looked like solid rock. It was only now as she stood within inches, and felt a cool breeze coming from it, that she realized it wasn't.

A cool breeze...which meant it had to be coming from _somewhere_.

Along with her little cat friend.

A surge of energy ran through her and her heart was suddenly racing in her chest. Hesitantly, she reached a trembling hand up toward the slit in the rock. As she did she tried to temper her emotions, telling herself firmly that just because a breeze and a cat fit through didn't mean she could.

Her hand vanished into the darkness and she carefully slid a foot forward, then the other and then repeated the process. A moment later she was standing fully inside the space, edges of the rock rising on both sides of her and over her head. She let out a slow breath, trying to calm the way her stomach was twisting inside her, but it didn't help. She strained, attempting to see in the dark but either the tunnel was very long, or it twisted and turned, preventing her from seeing the other side.

She started to take another step, only to freeze as her subconscious demanded her attention by presenting her with very clear images of all sorts of awful, creepy crawly things that might be currently living just inside the darkness.

Chewing on her lower lip, Bilba spun around and practically ran back to her room. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten lunch yet, but she ignored it as she searched frantically for her phone. She had no service in Erebor so hadn't bothered much with it, but she now desperately wanted the flashlight app the phone came with.

She dropped to her knees in front of her desk, dragged one of the bottom drawers open, and gave a short shriek of happiness at the sight of the phone tossed in a corner. She turned it on, and let out a sigh of relief to see it was still almost fully charged. Jumping up, she flew back to the cleft in the rock, barely pausing long enough to find a loose rock on the way down.

Creepy crawlies beware.

Once back she turned on the flashlight app and shined it into the darkness, revealing a narrow passage with a thin layer of water on the bottom. She had a vague knowledge of when the tides came in and out but made a mental note to check for sure as she had a feeling she didn't want to be caught inside when a tide was coming in, or trapped on the wrong side waiting for the water to go back down.

Clenching her hand at her side and straightening her back, she strode forward into the passage. The going was _very_ narrow and there were a few areas where she had to turn sideways and suck in her gut, squeezing her way carefully past the rocks. At one point, she experienced a burst of panic at the thought she was going to get stuck and die in that place, only to gasp in relief as she gave a final jerk and slid free. It was possibly the only time in her life she was happy to be so small, as only someone her size, or perhaps a child, would be able to fit.

Finally, she rounded a corner, and almost burst into tears at the sight of fractured bits of sunlight shining through what turned out to be thick ivy covering the far end of the passage. Turning the flashlight off, she carefully knelt, grimacing as water seeped into her jeans. Shoving the phone into her pocket, she leaned forward on her hands and peered through the breaks in the ivy.

She found herself looking at a beach, but not the one she'd seen every day for the past month. The rush of the ocean was every bit as loud but, over it, she heard the faint sound of people laughing and talking. A flash of color drew her attention and she caught sight of several people in brightly colored swimsuits running into the surf laughing and shouting.

Bilba pushed up and sagged on her heels, drinking it in like a person dying of thirst might stare at an oasis filled with water.

She couldn't go out right then. She knew that. She had deliberately avoided the news but knew she'd been plastered on it so much that there was little chance she wouldn't be recognized. The memory of the protestors lining the road as she'd been driven to the palace surfaced and she shuddered at the thought of being among them without the benefit of a car, and guards lining the way to keep them back.

An idea began to percolate in her mind and a slow smile began to cross her face. Then she was scrambling up and making her way back toward her tiny beach and her room.

She couldn't go out yet, but she was certainly going out.

Her brilliant plan was back in action.

***

The rest of the day went agonizingly slow, and she finally ended up sneaking into the common room to snatch a video game to play. She'd broken down and searched the large space during the first two weeks of her stay, after noticing Thorin was rarely ever there during daylight hours. She'd found a massive library of movies and games that, as far as she could tell, Thorin never touched. She doubted he'd miss one.

Time passed much quicker after she immersed herself in the game and, before she knew it, evening was falling. By that time, she'd braided her hair and pinned it up under a straw hat and added massive glasses Rosie had bought her once as a joke. They had no lenses but Bilba doubted anyone would look close enough to notice. To this she added her oldest set of jeans, shoes and an oversized shirt she may or may not have stolen from Bofur. The size hid her frame, while the age and overall sloppiness of the outfit would never call to mind the refined Princess of Shire image she'd tried to put out before arriving.

People saw what they wanted. She'd almost failed to recognize Rosie once when the other girl had spontaneously decided to cut and dye her hair, and a new pair of glasses on an acquaintance in a class had utterly changed how she looked. In Shire, Bilba had always made sure to wear her hair down, dressed at least nicely if not fancy and carried herself with all the refinement and polish of a Princess. There was none of that in her clothing or attitude now and she was confident no one would ever look at her and think she was the princess, especially after a month of not having seen her.

She heard Thorin and his overly giggly oh-so-perfect girlfriend in the other room and rolled her eyes with a grimace. She gathered her phone, some money Rosie and Bofur had foisted on her before she'd left, and her trusty rock, and headed toward the balcony.

Thorin and Kyra were welcome to each other.

 _She_ was going exploring.

***

And here he'd thought his night would be boring.

Gareth casually closed the lid of his laptop and stood from the wildly uncomfortable chair, stretching his arms over his head and listening to the sound of his back politely popping his vertebrae into place.

"Change your mind?" The dark-haired woman at the next table, who'd developed a poorly concealed crush and now showed up every evening when he did, gave him a nervous smile.

"Writer's block," Gareth replied smoothly. He slid his laptop in his bag and pulled the strap over a shoulder, other hand reaching for his coffee. "Figured perhaps a change of scenery might spark something."

"Want any company?" she asked with a slightly awkward laugh.

"Afraid it wouldn't be much fun. I'm going to be staring at a computer screen the whole time," Gareth replied easily. "Sorry."

He tipped an imaginary hat toward her and then wound his way through the tables filled with guests just starting their evenings. Outside, the streets held a good number of people, a mix of those who wanted a brief break before returning to work the next day, and those who held no job at all and didn't care about how late they were out.

The figure that had drawn his attention as she'd passed outside the window of the coffee shop was about a half block ahead of him, walking slowly and stopping to look in almost every store window.

Fishing a phone out of his pocket, Gareth dialed and held the device to one ear.

"Priority?" a no-nonsense voice asked.

"One."

"Transferring." She didn't ask for any further information. It was expected that if you called in with a priority one then you damn well better have a priority one.

"What?"

Gareth never understood how his boss, given how busy he knew the man was, always had the ability to instantly answer his phone no matter the time of day or night, but he'd long since stopped questioning it. "Someone owes you a paycheck."

A low chuckle came through the phone. "He's never going to live this down."

Gareth snorted. The captain was already eating proverbial crow over the motion sensors debacle. The debate between him and the Spymaster over whether roving motion detectors were necessary inside the palace had been legendary, with the captain finally winning out in favor of stationary ones. He'd insisted that, combined with his guards and the cameras, there was no way to beat his system.

The spymaster had taken great joy in showing him proof of how soundly a simple young woman, who supposedly had no training in evasion, had moved without anyone being the wiser.

Well, almost anyone.

Six guards had lost their jobs over that, and the motion sensors had been quietly replaced, not that anyone would know from looking.

Not that it "anyone" mattered.

It only mattered that _she_ not know.

After all, she _wasn't_ supposed to have any training.

On the opposite side of the street he noticed two men, lounging against the wall of a nightclub, suddenly straighten and begin slowly moving along the sidewalks. The way they kept shooting looks at the woman showed an unusual level of interest, but he couldn't tell if there was any connection between them or if the two were simply a pair of thugs.

"Any idea where she's going?" came the voice over the phone, pulling his attention back.

"None." The girl was an enigma. On the one hand, she'd evaded the captain's security, and was clearly well trained in evasion. On the other hand, her disguise was basic and could only hope to fool an untrained eye, and she didn't appear to be watching her surroundings. She'd stopped several times to look in a shop window but he saw no sign that she was using the glass to survey the area. She'd also shown no hint of being aware of his presence or that of the two across the street.

Which meant she was either _very_ good, or very innocent. Shire was considered rural by just about every other kingdom, and he knew she'd come from the most rural part of that kingdom. It stood to reason she might not understand how a city like Erebor's capital worked, or what dangers it posed. Or, it could be she was so well trained she simply didn't fear those dangers. It was impossible to tell from looking at her, or from what little evidence she'd given them to work with so far. The file on her suggested no training in her background, but her mere presence on the street in front of him showed that wasn't true, and that raised the question of what else the file left out?

She turned a corner and he noted she was heading slowly out of the center of town and toward areas where a young woman did not want to travel alone, and certainly not at night. He'd been wandering slowly behind her, pretending to be engrossed in his phone call but if they left the populated areas he'd have to fall back on a far more fun way to keep her in sight without giving himself away.

"You need backup?"

"Yeah." His eyes went back toward the two on the other side of the street. She still showed no signs of seeing them which meant she was either the greatest actress in the world or she wasn't associated with them. "May have to take care of a few things."

"Try to stay out of sight if possible. She gets spooked and we won't find out where she's going."

"Understood." Spotting a couple of familiar faces in the crowd, he hung up and crossed the street, absently throwing his coffee in the trash as he did. Behind him, his colleagues took up his prior position of tailing the princess, giving all the appearance of a giggling young couple totally engrossed in one another.

Gareth headed down a side alley, handing off his satchel to another man already waiting for him. There were agents placed all over the city and when one called for backup it rarely took more than a minute or two to arrive. Some might call it excessive but, then, he doubted those people had ever watched their kingdom fall into the hands of a psychotic bastard.

"You want me to handle it?" the man asked. He nodded at the dress shirt and slacks Gareth usually wore when playing his struggling writer guise. "You aren't dressed for it."

Gareth shrugged, heading toward the wall and jumping easily to grab the lowest rung of the fire escape. "I've got a little sister."

He pulled himself up by his arms until he could set his feet and made it to the rooftop in record time. From there it was a simple matter of pulling ahead of the two men and dropping into an alleyway they would soon be passing by.

As he crossed the rooftops, making sure to stay low and out of sight, he saw the young princess stop on the other side of the street, attention caught by something in the window. Crouching down, Gareth pulled a small set of binoculars from a pocket and held them to his eyes, zooming in on the window.

It was a television set airing the news. There was a shot of the princess on the screen with a headline that was...less than flattering. After staring at it for a few seconds the young woman resumed her trek, her head down now and her arms wrapped around herself.

Gareth's jaw tightened and he felt a surge of sympathy for the young woman. He wasn't the only one who felt the media was going overboard in their vitriol toward the princess and fanning the anger the public felt toward injustice dealt to the prince. There was very little the royal family could do without being accused of censorship so they'd simply refused to comment, and also began shunning interview requests from the more overzealous stations.

Gareth wasn't paid to have an opinion and, to be perfectly honest, truly didn't. He didn't personally know the royal family or this girl but had no doubt a lot of what he heard was heavily slanted one way or another. He did know four of his colleagues had been fired for making disparaging comments about the girl, one of whom he'd reported himself. The captain and the spymaster valued integrity in their people, even over skill. Gareth could still remember the start of his training, as both men had stood at the front of the room.

"Your skills with weapons or hand to hand combat don't impress me," the captain had stated bluntly. "I can teach you how to kill. I can't teach you character, loyalty, or basic decency. I expect all those qualities, and more, in every man and woman in this room. You can't produce, get out now."

Gareth had passed every test they'd thrown at him, and had been proud to accept the transfer to espionage when the captain had informed him that's where he'd be put to best use. He'd joined to serve his king, and so he would, and that included every member of the king's family without judgment.

He started moving again, and soon reached the edge of the building overlooking a narrow alley. He was ahead of the two following the princess now and he quickly leapt over the side and headed down the fire escape. As his feet hit the concrete he wasn't at all surprised to find the spymaster leaning against the wall on the other side of the alley. Somewhere, there was a breach and if that didn't warrant the man's personal attention Gareth didn't know what did.

"All right." His boss straightened and turned toward the opening. "Try to make it silent and quick, and keep them alive if possible. We have no idea what they may be responsible for." He gave a hard grin. "If they resist, however...."

Gareth smiled back and fell in behind his boss and mentor as they waited for the two men to pass the entrance of the alley. Gareth curled his fingers toward his wrist to tug on a slender strip tied there, little more than a bracelet to anyone who noticed, and a dagger dropped from his shirt sleeve. He closed his hand around the hilt as it fell past, and pressed against the wall on one side of the alley while the spymaster took up position across from him.

The princess walked past on the far side of the street, so small a stiff wind could probably knock her over, and Gareth felt a burst of anger at the two bastards who looked at her and only saw a target.

He _really_ hoped they resisted.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Bilba was beginning to wish she'd put a little more thought into her decision to sneak out. Rosie was always complaining about Bilba somehow managing to be naive and impulsive all at once. Bilba had always denied it, but was starting to privately concede the other girl might have a teeny weeny, _slight_ point.  

For one thing, her decision to go out at night, by herself probably hadn't been the best choice ever. This late, it was mostly the nightclub or bar scene and while most people who were out were simply happy and enjoying themselves, there were also those who had clearly been having _too_ much of a good time. A handful of bars had people loitering around the doorways, a few of whom tried to entice her to go inside.

Bilba had no intention of doing any such thing. She rarely drank as it was, and she certainly wasn't going to do it alone in a bar. At home, she'd gone to a club a few times but only with Bofur and Rosie in tow. Nothing had ever happened, but that didn't mean nothing ever would and she'd rather be safe than sorry.

So, that meant no bars or nightclubs. She thought about going to see where the university or dance studio was, or even the bakery Bofur's brother owned, but there wouldn't be much point with them all closed. Also, when she'd asked someone for directions they'd pointed down a darkened, isolated street leading out from the city center and, yeah, she might be naive but she wasn't _stupid_. Usually.

This left her with few options, especially with the small amount of money she'd brought. She could go into a grocery store, boring, or sit in a coffee shop and watch the world pass by, unappealing given how long she'd done just that in her room in the palace, or she could find her way back to said room and...do some more sitting, she guessed.

At least if she went that route she'd have no trouble finding it. The palace, and the cliff upon which it sat, was visible no matter where she was. Hooray for small victories and all that.

She was just deciding to turn around and head back, only a little disheartened that her outing hadn't been as grand as she'd hoped, when she rounded a corner and stopped short at the sight of a large complex with an equally big parking lot about half filled with cars. The front of the building had a large marquee framed in bright, flashing lights, and titles while, below, a short line of people snaked out from a window where a young woman in a blue uniform sat next to a cash register.

A movie theater, and one that was clearly still open and didn't appear to be preparing to close in the next five minutes.

Bilba clasped her hands together and resisted the urge to jump up and down with glee. She _loved_ movies. Loved, loved, loved, _loved_ them. _And_ , not only that, but there had been a new disaster movie coming out that she'd been planning for _months_ to see with Rosie but hadn't been able to because her grandfather was an asshole and forced her to marry a stranger and then proceeded to ship her off to Erebor where, on a sidenote, it was freaking _freezing_.

Seriously, in Shire the weather was temperate with it dropping off a little in the evenings and staying fairly consistent throughout the night.

Erebor, she was quickly finding, was nothing like Shire. It was already cool thanks to the nearness of the ocean but she'd dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans and, after stepping out and finding it chilly but not cold, had assumed she was okay.

Wrong.

It just kept getting _colder_. She'd left her coat back in her room, worrying it'd jog someone's memory as she'd worn it several times when appearing on the news, but now regretted not risking it. She wasn't going to freeze to death or anything, but it was certainly uncomfortable and if she was going to suffer for having snuck out then she darn well should have _something_ to show for it.

Like getting to see a movie she'd really, really, _really_ been looking forward to seeing.

She checked the street and then crossed quickly, hopping up lightly onto the sidewalk and cutting through the parking lot. Once she made it to the line she studied the marquee and was excited to see the movie she wanted had a showing starting in fifteen minutes. It was a small thing overall but, finally, something was going her way.

She got her ticket, grateful Bofur and Rosie had been thoughtful enough to give her Erebor money and not Shire coin, and was startled when the cashier asked her what seat she wanted.

"It's playing in our newest theater," the woman explained. "The screen is huge and it's in really high definition. You get to pick a specific seat instead of just finding one after you go in."

"Oh," Bilba considered with a frown. "I've never been in one like that. What would you recommend?"

The woman indicated a seat in the center of the theater, and Bilba purchased a ticket, only flinching a little at the price. The woman assured her it'd be worth it and Bilba nodded. She really wanted to see the movie and it wasn't like she was going to be coming every single day or anything.

She headed in, almost groaning in relief at the rush of warm air that wrapped around her as she passed through the double glass doors. It was beautiful inside, the room laid out like what she'd expect from a high-end theater that did plays or operas or something. The lobby was cavernous and carpeted in a plush burgundy carpet. The walls were split into sections by large, decorative pillars with each section painted to showcase an iconic movie, actor or actress. On her left was a tiled area with tables where someone could wait for friends or for a later movie showing while, on her right, were the bathrooms.

Directly in front of her were the classic long, glass cases filled with all manner of candy and other snack options. A bright board overhead had a changing, digital display of various combos one could get and Bilba felt herself drawn forward at the sight of a hotdog and nacho combination.

Movies were simply not the same without nachos and hotdogs.

She got in the nearest line and bounced up and down lightly on her heels as she waited for it to move.

"Excited, are you?" a voice asked next to her.

Bilba turned her head and saw a spindly man in the line next to hers. He was short, though still taller than her, with thinning hair and a strange elongated face with almost unnaturally huge eyes.

Something about him, perhaps the way he was staring at her or the bulky trench coat he was wearing, creeped her out. "Yeah," she said quickly and then focused forward again, trying to stay still.

"What movie are you going to see?" the man asked, not getting the hint. He shuffled closer to her and she tensed.

"One I've been waiting for," she said non-committedly. The last thing she wanted was for him to show up in her theater and harass her.

She got up to the counter and placed her order, resting her hands on the surface and absently tapping her fingers on the glass. The spindly man crowded up next to her, as if they were together, and Bilba felt her shoulders hunch up as she tensed further. Clearly, her luck was still as bad as it'd ever been. The previous burst of good luck had just been lulling her into a false sense of security.  

The weight on her ring finger, that she'd nearly gotten used to and almost forgotten, caught her attention and she lifted her hand to show it off. "Sorry. I'm married."

The creep was not deterred, actually scooting closer, if possible, until he was nearly in physical contact with her. "Where is he?"

Canoodling with his ex-fiancée, Bilba thought in annoyance. The cashier brought over her food and the guy had the audacity to reach for one of her nachos. Bilba firmly grabbed the food and pulled it to one side, blocking it off with her purse as she reached in for her wallet.

"I've got it,” the man said holding his credit card out, but Bilba shook her head.

"That's not necessary," she said firmly as she pulled a bill out.

"Well you don't have to be such a witch about it," the man said, turning angry at the flip of a switch. "I said I'd pay for it, and I will. Uppity sluts, all think they're better than me." The last was said under his breath but Bilba still caught it, and had a feeling that had been the intent. Setting her jaw, she held the bill out toward the cashier, desperately hoping the guy would just get the hint and leave her alone.  

His hand reached out toward her wrist, as if he planned to grab her arm and physically pull her hand back. On the other side of the counter, the cashier was turning to say something to another worker and Bilba dearly hoped she was calling for security, and that it would arrive sooner rather than later.

A large presence was suddenly between her and the other man, physically forcing him to step back without laying a finger on him, and a hand she was pretty sure was larger than her head was closed around the guy's wrist like an iron manacle.

"She said no," a deep voice said calmly. "Now why don't you take the hint, go enjoy your movie, and let the lady enjoy hers?"

Bilba blinked as she found herself staring up at an absolute mountain of a man. He was even bigger than that security guy Thorin had been dragging around, or Thorin himself who she vaguely remembered as being pretty large all on his own.

Must be something in the water.

This guy looked to be about ten years or so older than her, with short cropped dark blond hair. He was built like a tank, his shoulders straining his shirt. She couldn't even see the spindly man on the other side, but he jerked his hand free like he'd been burned.

Bilba wasn't sure she didn't want to jerk back as well because the guy was certainly intimidating without even trying.  

A sldender arm slid around her back and a female voice said, "Come on, dear. Why don't we go over here and let my darling husband do what he does best?"

The voice was very soothing and Bilba responded without thinking about it, paying quickly and then gathering up her food and allowing the arm to pull her away from the counter. It was only when she was several feet away that she thought to look at the owner of the voice.

The woman was taller than her, as most were, with an athletic build, coal black hair and icy blue eyes. She was gorgeous, on a level that would automatically make any woman near her feel frumpy in comparison, and dressed impeccably in jeans, a blouse and heels that showed off her legs in a way they'd never done for Bilba. The woman looked ageless but carried herself with a confidence and self-assurance that suggested she might be at least a little older than she looked.

Bilba hesitated, glancing back at the counter. The spindly man had vanished all together and the guy who'd helped her was speaking to the cashier.

"He'll be over in a minute," the woman said with a smile. "Gareth is convinced going to the movies without popcorn is a crime." She heaved a long-suffering sigh, and Bilba couldn't help a short laugh, relaxing just a bit. The woman grinned as if they were sharing a joke and held out a hand. "I'm Cerys."

"Bil -- osie!" Bilba blurted, feeling a flush of fear as she almost gave away her name, coupled with shame at lying to someone who'd been so nice. "Rosie," she repeated. "Sorry, I was a bit discombobulated there for a second."

"Understandable," Cerys said. "It's late, and you had to deal with that idiot over there." She raised an eyebrow, and changed the subject. "What movie are you seeing?"

"Oh," Bilba fumbled her food in one hand as she retrieved her ticket. Cerys glanced at it and then said,

"Well, what do you know?" She pulled her own ticket out and said, "Ta-dah! So are we!"

Relief surged through Bilba at the thought she wouldn't have to be in the theater alone, even if the seat number on the woman's ticket wasn't close to hers. She'd been half afraid the creepy guy would be even more likely to follow her now that he was pissed off.

The big guy, Gareth, arrived holding a huge bucket of popcorn and a look of happiness on his face. Bilba started to thank him but he waved it off with a hand. "No need. My mother didn't raise me to require thanks for acting like a gentleman."

"She's seeing the same movie we are," Cerys said to him, sliding an arm affectionately around his waist. She turned back to Bilba. "Would you like to sit with us?"

"Oh." Bilba was surprised at just how much she already liked these two. She bit her lip, and gestured to her ticket. "I would, but the seats are numbered."

"That's no problem," Gareth said. "This late, the room will be half empty. There wouldn't be a problem finding three seats together." He gave Cerys a stern look before adding, "Only if you want, though. I know my wife can be a little...shall we say forceful when she comes up with an idea she likes." He dropped his free arm across her shoulders as he said this, and his voice took on a tone of outright pride.

Cerys rolled her eyes. "Says the man who once nearly burned the house down insisting he could rewire a faulty outlet all by himself." She changed her voice to a mocking impression of Gareth. "Hiring a repairman would be waste of time. I can do this in an hour!"

"Nearly burn the house down one time," Gareth muttered, "and you never live it down."

Bilba gave a half snort, half giggle, her spirits lifting. Then the reason they had been down in the first place reasserted itself and she leaned a little past them, still worried she'd see the creepy guy somewhere, glaring at her.

"Don't worry," Cerys said, gently touching her hand to get her attention. "We'll make sure no one bothers you, even if you don't sit with us."

Bilba relaxed and then smiled, suddenly shy. She really wasn't used to people taking much notice of her, or at least not for a prolonged period. Most lost interest pretty quickly and moved on.

"I would like to sit with you, if that's okay," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. In her mind, she could almost hear Rosie cheering her on. The other girl always insisted that at least a portion of Bilba's isolation was self-imposed, a result of her own insecurities and lack of self-esteem courtesy of her family. Bilba wasn't entirely sure she believed it but had taken the words to heart anyway and been trying to be a little more open to people approaching.

Just not creepy, aggressive jerks. She didn't think Rosie would complain about her decision to avoid those sorts of people.

"Great." Gareth handed off the popcorn to his wife. "You ladies go get seats, all right? I'll be right in."

He stepped away a few feet, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. Cerys threw an arm around Bilba again, steering her toward the theater rooms. "He has to call the babysitter and check in before the movie starts," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "He's worse than I am."

They stopped at a low table on their way and Bilba loaded up on condiments for her hotdog while Cerys added salt and butter to her popcorn. Then they headed into the showroom where Bilba's steps slowed at the sight of the huge space, and tiered rows of what looked like plush armchairs set before a screen so big that the ads currently being displayed gave her an odd sense of disorientation as they walked in.

"First time here?" Cerys asked once she started walking again and Bilba nodded.

"Where I come from, theaters are much smaller."

"Pity," Cerys said. They'd rounded the front of the seats and, as they'd said, most of the room was empty. "Where is this place so I can avoid it in the future?"

"Shire," Bilba said absently, and then tensed, worried she might trigger them to recognize her or, possibly, simply start thinking of the whole alliance debacle. She really did like these people. The last thing she wanted was to hear them discuss how awful they thought the Princess of Shire was.

Cerys, however, simply nodded. "I've heard that place is pretty rural." She pointed toward the row where Bilba's seat was. "See? It's completely empty. We can sit there and if the seats get sold and people come in, we'll simply move."

She led the way up and happily settled into one of the seats. Bilba sat next to her and was surprised a few minutes later when Gareth dropped into the seat next to her instead of Cerys. He leaned over to report to his wife what the babysitter had said and then retrieved his popcorn, but not before Cerys grabbed a large handful and piled it on her lap as if she wasn't wearing high end, designer jeans.

The movie started soon after and Bilba shortly found herself having the one thing she hadn't expected to ever experience again after leaving Shire and her friends.

Fun.

***

The movie was just as amazing as she'd expected and, before she knew it, the credits were rolling. The handful of other people in the theater filed out but Cerys and Gareth seemed content to watch the end credits and listen to the music so Bilba settled in and did the same.

When the last credit rolled, they headed out, pausing to throw away their now empty food containers. As they headed into the lobby, Bilba felt a jolt at the sight of the lights over the concession turned out and the lights in the lobby itself dimmed.

"Ours was the last showing," Cerys explained, seeing her reaction. "The doors are already locked so you can go out but no one else can come in."

"Oh," Bilba glanced at the clock on her phone and her eyes widened at just how late it was. "Wow, I didn't even think of what time it would be when we got out."

"Where'd you park?" Cerys asked as they headed toward the exits. "We'll walk you to your car."

"Oh," Bilba repeated. "I -- uh--" She hesitated and then blurted, "I took the bus." She desperately hoped a bus station was nearby, to make it believable.

She knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing as Cerys' eyes went wide. "Oh, sweetie, the last bus is long gone. They won't start running again for hours."

"No problem," Gareth said. "We can give you a ride."

"That's not necessary," Bilba said quickly. "I can just walk."

"It's the middle of the night," Cerys said, worried. "What kind of people would we be to let you walk alone through the city in the dark?"

She had a point. Chewing on her lower lip, an idea came to her. It made her slightly nauseous, and ashamed of herself, but there was little else she could do. Even if she could reveal her true identity without fear of them instantly hating her, there was simply no way she could allow them to follow her and see the way she'd gotten out of the palace. The crack in the rock led straight to the beach below her room, and that of Thorin Durin. She might not have an incredibly high opinion of the man but it didn't mean she wanted to see him hurt. Letting people find out about the passage, even nice people she liked, simply wasn't a good idea.

"All right," she said. "I need to go to the bathroom first, though. I'll be right back." She worried that Cerys would insist on going with her but, instead, the two agreed and promised to wait for her.

Bilba headed back to the large bathrooms she'd seen earlier before the movies started. They were set in kind of an alcove almost, the walls coming out in a half circle that one had to walk around. The signs pointing to the bathrooms was on the back wall but the doors to the rooms themselves were hidden behind the half wall.

Not entirely sure her plan would even work, Bilba pushed into the room, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a window at the end of the aisle. She headed past the row of empty stalls and the black, granite sinks. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and flinched as a rush of guilt washed over her.

Cerys and Gareth would think she was crazy after this, and a jerk. They had been nothing but kind to her, and she was repaying them by ditching them like a weirdo and leaving them waiting on her.

Perhaps Rosie was right after all about part of her isolation being her own fault. Who needed her grandfather when she did it to herself?

The window was latched, but she was able to get it open and quickly pushed the window open. Unlike in her beloved RomComs, where a heroine escaping a bad date always had to fall out a tiny window onto the ground in an awkward, yet hilarious, tumble, the window was plenty large enough, and the drop short enough to allow her to get out fairly easily.

This did not speak well of the theater's security.

She carefully closed the window, feeling yet another surge of guilt at having no way to latch it behind her.

It had gotten colder while she'd been inside, and the parking lot was almost completely empty and dark, lit only by the occasional pool of light from light poles.  

Bilba was not looking forward to the walk back to the palace. Clearly Rosie and Bofur were not far off when they claimed she tended to act impulsively. She made a mental note to work on that, but not right then.

Right then she needed all her mental acuity to focus on the important things in life.

Like picturing her bathroom with its hot water and her cushy bed with mounds of blankets that she could sink into like she was snuggled inside a cave made of clouds.

She loved her bed, and bathroom.

***

Gareth stood in calf deep, ice cold water, jaw clenched so tight he could feel a muscle spasming in protest. He'd waited a few minutes as ordered, and then said screw it to secrecy, flicked on his flashlight and trained it on a section of the cliff. It was liberally covered with vines, ivy, and other greenery, covering it so completely that only someone who knew it was there would ever see the gaps between the vines that suggested an opening past them.

A small portion of the vines had been nudged out of the way and then carefully moved back in place, the only hint it had happened a few broken stalks and areas where leaves had probably once hung, only to be torn off and washed out to the ocean.

A swell broke against his legs, rising up to near thigh high. The water bubbled past him a good several yards and he felt his heart jerk in his chest. If possible, he clenched his jaw even tighter, until it was very possible he might end up cracking a few teeth before the night was over.

Finally, he caught sight of movement from behind the vines and something inside him eased slightly as Cerys appeared, carefully sliding out from behind the vines and ivy. She was drenched almost head to foot and stumbled as she made it out, a swell catching her off guard just as she made it past the last of the ivy.

Gareth caught her around the waist. He lifted her clear off her feet and proceeded to march through the water until they'd reached the sand where he finally put her down again. She shook her head but didn't comment. She was breathing hard and looked exhausted, a testament to how strong the water inside the passage must have been. He made a mental note to check for injuries later. Cerys understood the importance of reporting serious injuries but tended to be stubbornly silently when it came to bruises and abrasions.

"Well?" he asked as she caught her breath.

She shook her head. "There's no way you'd ever make it. I barely made it past the twist at the halfway point."

"But it goes all the way through?" Gareth was not in a good mood. Part was residual fear, while the rest was annoyance over the fact that apparently there was an unguarded passageway leading to the Crown Prince's _bedroom_ and somehow it had gone unnoticed.

"It does." Her eyes darkened. "It fills up when the tide comes in. I was knocked around getting through and back. She must have had it even worse."

"Are you sure she made it?" Gareth asked in concern. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the realization that the newest member of the Erebor royal family was apparently insanely reckless, but the thought of her being swept out to sea made him sick.

Cerys nodded. "I checked with the boss. She's in her quarters."

"That she is," a new voice said and both turned as the spymaster himself strolled toward them. He nodded toward the cliff. "That it?"

"It is," Cerys answered. "We should close it off."

"Not yet," came the casual response. "I still want to know what she was up to."

Cerys shrugged. "Perhaps she just wanted a night on the town."

The spymaster raised an eyebrow. "Without much money, and when most everything was already closed?"

Cerys pointed toward the vines. "She went through that with the tide coming in. She's reckless and doesn't think things through before she does them. I'm not surprised."

"Don't be so quick to judge, one way or the other." The spymaster looked amused. "We'll put a twenty-four-hour watch on the passage, on both sides. No one will come or go without our knowing it."

"And the Princess? " Gareth asked, because he knew Cerys wanted to but wouldn't. "At best, we'll need to find out what she's doing. At worst, her personality is going to require constant monitoring to make sure she doesn't get herself killed."

"Also true," the spymaster agreed. "I've been waiting to assign her team. I wanted to see the sort of person she was first." He gave them both an assessing look. "Now that I have, I'd think she'd need people who are mature enough to steer her on the right path, strong willed enough to insist on it, and capable of protecting her from herself."

Gareth had a sinking feeling at the look on the other man's face. Cerys, however, simply smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. She was shivering and Gareth mentally kicked himself before pulling his jacket off and draping it around her.

"Oh, don't look like that," Cerys said, pulling the coat close around her. "Weren't you the one wishing for some action not too long ago?"

"Action, yes," Gareth said. "Keeping reckless Princesses from getting killed is another thing all together." Especially if the girl turned out to have ulterior motives. Cerys clearly liked her, and Gareth would hate to see her disappointed if the Shire Princess turned out to be something more than she appeared to be.

Shadows appeared in the moonlight, and the spymaster turned to meet them, waving at the two of them as he did. "Get home before you die of hypothermia. I'll let you know when your first shift is."

"I hope you realize we can't monitor her all the time," Gareth commented dryly. "She's going to need a bigger team." Most of the royal family had teams of teams of six that operated in eight-hour shifts.

"All in good time," came the response. "I'm starting with you two. We'll take care of the rest later." With that he was gone to meet their replacements, the two of them clearly dismissed.

Cerys wrapped both arms around him as best she could, and yawned. "Come on, let's go home. I'm sure the babysitter is waiting to regale us with stories of all the antics your little doppelganger has gotten up to."

Gareth snorted. "Please, she gets all that from you."

Cerys laughed and they started toward the boardwalk and where Cerys had left her shoes. He wasn't entirely thrilled at their new assignment but Cerys was right in that he'd been complaining of boredom lately.

His mind went back to the diminutive Princess and he shook his head in resignation. He had a feeling the last thing he'd be was bored when it came to trying to keep her safe.

Now, if only she could prove to be who she seemed to be, and nothing else.

Cerys wouldn't be the only one disappointed if it turned out otherwise.


	13. Chapter 13

Kyra Lundair had always thought of her life as a fairy tale.

Granted, it hadn't _started_ that way, not exactly anyway. Every fairy tale seemed to have _some_ tragedy in it before the eventual happy ending.

Hers had simply had a little more than most.

If she concentrated, she could still smell the acrid stench of smoke as Smaug's forces marched through the corridors of the palace, could almost hear the echoing screams of the wounded and dying as she walked those same halls now. She'd been too young to fully understand what was going on as her father dragged her to safety, but she'd known enough to be afraid.

If she thought hard enough she could remember the smell of her mother's perfume, and almost recall the sound of her laugh. She'd always been grateful that her last memory of her mother was a happy one, being tucked into bed after a bedtime story and a kiss goodnight. Her father had never spoken about her mother's final moments, but the haunted look in his eyes had never gone away.

Nor had the anchor of guilt Kyra carried over being the cause of her parents’ delay in escaping. She'd been playing tag in one of the lower halls, running along with the twin children of a lesser nobleman.

They'd been her best friends.  

Their images were easy enough to recall, forever locked in a single point in time, happy and carefree and utterly unaware of the horror that lay ahead.

Neither had made it out that day.

After that had been the dark days of the exile, as they'd struggled to escape their home and make it to safety. Hunger, a total unknown to her in better days, had become her constant companion, along with cold and fear. There had been days spent hiding in the hold of dank boats, or cowering in dark alleys and cold basements. Even after arriving in Moria, home until the kingdom had been reclaimed, things had been hard. Moria was smaller, and ill equipped to handle the sudden influx of people. Rather than the suite of rooms they'd held at the palace, she and her father had been relegated to a small, drafty place in the lower levels. Kyra had slept on a narrow cot in the corner of the kitchen, near the stove which was the only place that gave off any heat.

It had been difficult, in more ways than one. She'd lost her home, her mother, her friends and, in many ways, her father. He'd been the highest ranked surviving diplomat to make it out of Erebor and his services had been in high demand. It had been a long time before enough organization had been put in place to resume her education and she wasn't allowed outside the gates without an escort so there had been little for her to do aside from aimlessly wander the halls of Moria.

It had been during one of these rambling trips that she'd run into Thorin, doing his utmost to kick a hole in a wall. As the wall was solid rock, he hadn't been getting very far. She could still remember the angry red marks on his face, angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, hands clutched in fists so tight that the developing bruises on his knuckles stood out in sharp relief.

Her father ran in the highest social circles so she'd met him before, and they had even played together, along with Dis. It wasn't until that day, however, when she ran into him just after he'd fought a few Moria children who'd dared disparage his father that their true friendship started. They'd come together out of loneliness at first as the adults struggled to keep them all alive, and later had grown closer from familiarity. Most of the nobility simply removed themselves, along with their children, to other estates or family outside of Erebor. It was only those who had no choice, or those desperately needed who went to Moria. She and Thorin had ended up being some of the only Ereborian children left and they, along with Dis, had developed the sort of friendship that, in a different time and place, might never have happened.

Kyra couldn't put her finger on when she went from seeing Thorin as a friend to seeing him as something far more. She thought it might have happened right about the time her father had started seeing someone. Kyra, just entering her teen years and missing her mother more than ever, had not approved. She'd approved even less when the two had married, and when her stepsister and stepbrother had come along over the course of the next two years. Her own idiocy had driven a rift between her and her father that had never healed and, with his death, never would.

She'd made no attempts to bond with any of her new family and, instead, had treated the Durins as if they were her family instead. Perhaps the feelings had started then, perhaps a little earlier or later. It just seemed to evolve naturally, until holding hands with him or kissing was as natural as hide and go seek or tag had once been.

Eventually, Erebor had been retaken. Kyra had been given rooms in the royal wing along with a spacious office a few doors down from the one Thorin worked in. It was then that the idea of being in a fairy tale had really started to take hold. After all, hadn't she lived the basic plot of one? She hadn't started in as poor a place as many fairy tale heroines but she'd certainly been driven out of her home and gone through many a trial and tribulation. In the end, however, she would be rewarded as all the princesses in tales were, by winning her prince and living happily ever after.

That was the way it was supposed to go.

She was the princess.

Her life was a fairy tale.

She would get her prince.

She would live happily ever after.

 

Except it hadn't gone that way at all.

 

Because, apparently, she'd made an assumption that she shouldn't have.

The assumption that her life was a fairy tale, and she was the heroine of it.

A knock on her door caught her attention, and Kyra opened her eyes to stare in resignation at the ceiling overhead. She'd been attempting to wade through the massive pile of paperwork on her desk and the seemingly endless pages of emails on her computer when her head had begun to pound with the promise of a spectacular headache. She'd leaned back in her chair in the hopes that resting for a few moments might help, but the dull throbbing in her temples proved her hopes were in vain.

Big surprise.  

"Come in," she called, not even bothering to hide the fatigue in her voice.

Immediately the door opened and her personal steward, Dardren, strode in. He'd been with her since before the exile, starting out as one of her father's servants but quickly rising to the position of head butler. In Moria, he'd chosen to stay of his own free will, serving from loyalty to both her family and the crown. As there was little need for servants at that time her father had trained him in other areas to allow him to still feel useful.

After her father's death, Kyra had employed him as her steward and had kept him in the role when they'd all returned. During his time with her, he'd watched her grow up and she, in turn, had seen him fall in love with a young palace maid, Hadra; who, on her own, had risen to become the head housekeeper of the palace. Together they'd raised a large family and were currently the proud grandparents of a large group of grandchildren. As their hair had whitened and their bodies become stiffer and less willing to obey, both had been encouraged to retire, safe in the knowledge that they would be well cared for, but both had flatly refused. They saw the royal family, and Kyra, as their own and planned to serve as long as they were able.

"My apologies, my Lady," Dardren said, hands clutching a large stack of paper. "I'm afraid I have more to add to your workload."

"Of course you do," Kyra said with a sigh. In the past, the grind hadn't been quite as hard to deal with. Thorin _was_ just down the hall and they were forever popping in and out of one another's offices. If things were the way they had been, he'd have already come in long ago. He'd have noticed her fatigue, dragged her over to the couch and given her a very thorough massage that would have left every muscle in her body entirely relaxed.

The memory brought a rush of affection mixed with pain and she grimaced. It was best not to think about Thorin at all, or the fact that the day before should have been their one-month wedding anniversary. A, by now, familiar plain flared inside her and she grimaced.

Damn it all.

Dardren set the stack down on a relatively empty patch of her desk and Kyra shot a look at the clock. Two more hours until she'd be meeting Thorin for lunch and could have a break.

Dardren excused himself while she idly pulled the first sheet of paper off the stack and scanned it. It was an invitation to attend the opening of a new animal shelter. It would be the largest in the city, state of the art and had taken years' worth of fundraising and public support to get it done. Attending it would be good for public relations.

It was also something that, traditionally, would be left to a member of the royal family. A wife perhaps, but not the Queen as her duties didn't allow for many, if any, extracurricular activities.

It would be perfect for the wife of one of the princes, and since only one prince was married...

Irritation flared through her and she clenched her jaw in agitation. She'd carried her own duties, and the duties that would classically belong to the heir's wife, for years now without complaint or second thought. Now, however, she felt split. Part of her was possessive over what she felt were _her_ duties and _her_ responsibilities.

The other part of her deeply resented a woman who'd taken _everything_ from her, but happily left her all the work and responsibility.

Kyra was _trying_ , she truly was, not to resent the Shire princess. She didn't believe the rumors that claimed the other woman had demanded the marriage out of a selfish desire to land Thorin for herself. The girl had shown zero interest in Thorin since her arrival, hadn't so much as seen him or said a single word to him. The first few times Kyra had gone over to watch a movie she'd half worried the woman would burst from her room and demand to know why Kyra was there, but the door had always stayed shut and the room beyond almost strangely silent. The woman might as well not _be_ married for all the concern she showed.

So, no, she didn't believe the marriage was the other girl's doing or design. And if it wasn't her fault, and she was simply another casualty of the Thain's machinations as Kyra suspected, then she had no reason to hate or blame her for what had happened.

No, she blamed the Thain.

Him, and him alone, and so Kyra didn't resent the Shire princess for _that_ , or at least she tried very hard not to.

But the rest...

She'd seen the news coverage just as everyone else had, and had heard the reports of the woman burning through a nearly obscene amount of money in barely a week. She'd heard other rumors as well, and seen the intelligence reports. The girl was known to keep to herself, reportedly as a result of her poor attitude and belief in her own superiority as a member of the royal family. Her academic record listed an almost ridiculous number of schools, with each one insisting she'd been removed or transferred mere steps ahead of being expelled for bad behavior. Each school interviewed was vague on exactly what it was she'd done, but when a family was as obsessed with public image as the Thain was that stood to reason.

In all, the reports seemed to suggest Erebor had been saddled with the black sheep of the Shire royal family and, given what Thorin had reported about Beatrice and some of the other members of the family he'd met, that was saying a lot.

Still, through it all, Kyra had hope the other girl might settle down upon arriving at Erebor, especially if they made it clear they intended to treat her well. She'd been set up in what should have been Kyra's quarters, a fact which still caused her a burst of almost soul crushing _injustice_ , and Kyra had assigned Dardren and his wife to choose a personal steward and maid for the girl.

She'd been hopeful that at least the Shire princess might prove to be a decent person. She'd expected immature and possibly spoiled but neither of those qualities necessarily meant the girl was a _bad_ person and she had held out hope. It wouldn't ease the pain any, but it might at least have made it palatable. Instead, the girl had arrived and promptly locked herself in her room, refused all attempts to speak to her, had summarily rejected Dardren's steward and any attempts at a schedule, and Hadra reported the young maid she'd assigned had been driven to tears and banished from the girl's room.  

Over the last month, Kyra had felt her feelings of forced amiability slowly lessening into outright bitterness, and anger. She tried to rationalize it all away, she really did. The girl was being eviscerated by the media, even now, and public opinion, and naturally wouldn't want to make any public appearances or agree to interviews. She also, if Kyra was right about her being little more than another pawn in her grandfather's schemes, was probably none too happy about having been wrenched away from her life and forced to move to a land of strangers. 

But still, even giving her the benefit of the doubt, it didn't explain everything, and certainly didn't explain the reports on her character while living in the Shire. Kyra felt more like she was putting on blinders and ignoring the fangs and venom of a snake, insisting all the while it was a princess.

A false hope she'd desperately tried to squash time and time again rose up as she found herself trying to think of something, some _way_ to fix all this. Some way to put it all back the way it was, the way it was _supposed_ to be. A way to send the Shire princess back home, where she'd be happier anyway, and restore her engagement.

The problem was it couldn't be anything on Erebor's side. Their honor was too important, especially as they continued to try and prove themselves to the other kingdoms. How could they ever hope to establish lasting treaties and relationships if they proved they couldn't be trusted to keep the ones they had?

This was doubly true when it came to Gondor. Shire, for reasons beyond her understanding, had a strong alliance with the much larger nation, one that Erebor had yet to attain. Try as she might, Kyra hadn't been able to make any inroads, lacking the sort of resources or contacts that could get her in and smooth her way to an audience with King Elessar. She highly doubted breaking an alliance with their close allies would help in that regard. It would more likely destroy any chance they ever had, if not outright create an antagonistic relationship and that was the last thing they needed. Thror had been an isolationist, and when the fall had come it had left them out in the cold with little to no help, and had paved the way for the disastrous alliance with the Shire. Thrain was determined to not let that happen again, which meant they needed allies and in order to get them it was _imperative_ they portray themselves as trustworthy.

And so, Erebor could not be seen breaking the alliance, be it by fact or by subterfuge.

She tossed the paper down and watched as it swept several other pages off the stack and onto the floor. Grumbling to herself, Kyra slid out of her chair and dropped down to gather them up.

Someone cleared their throat at her open door and she looked up in surprise.

"Thorin." Pure happiness surged through her, washing away the fatigue and even managing to lessen her headache, or at least it made it feel that way.

"When are you going to make the change to digital like the rest of us?" Pushing off the doorframe he'd been casually leaning against, he came and dropped down next to her to help her gather up the pages.

Kyra rolled her eyes. "I think we've beaten that joke to death, don't you?" Her father had been incredibly paranoid of all things electronic, and had passed the same beliefs onto his daughter. Kyra preferred to do her work via good, old fashioned paper as much as possible. Thorin had been teasing her about it for years.

"Nope." He stood, putting the stack back on the desk and then reached his hand down to help her up.

Kyra tried to ignore the way her heart jolted in her chest when his hand touched hers. "What's up?" she asked, turning away to nervously shuffle the stack of paperwork. She never used to be nervous around Thorin but now it felt like she was back in school again trying to act natural around her crush.

So ridiculous.

"My father has requested our presence," Thorin said, rocking absently back on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back.

Kyra blinked in surprise. "Why?"

Thorin shrugged. "No idea."

"Fair enough," Kyra mumbled, forcing herself to stop fiddling with the papers. "I suppose if you did know it'd negate the need to go see him, wouldn't it?"

"Definitely be less a waste of time," Thorin muttered. He held his arm out and she wrapped her hand around his bicep without comment. The relationship between Thorin and his father had been decidedly strained since the marriage, yet another casualty that could be laid at the feet of the Thain.

They walked down the corridor together, chatting about nothing in particular. Whatever nervousness she'd felt dissipated until the two of them were interacting the same as they ever had. It was at times like these that she found herself most able to pretend the last month had never happened. That she and Thorin were still engaged, the wedding still ahead of them and her life was still the fairy tale she'd always believed it to be.

A number of servants greeted them, and Kyra nodded at them in return. One or two, mainly the younger maids, gave her oddly knowing smiles, while another gave her an outright wink and she frowned in confusion, unsure what it was they thought they knew.

The Thain's office was on the same floor as the offices for Dwalin and Nori, the captain of palace security and the spymaster and, as they reached the top of the staircase leading to the floor, Kyra was surprised to see Gareth heading toward them.

Gareth and his wife were the absolute best Nori had and were very rarely seen in the palace. They lived somewhere in the city, under a guise of a typical husband and wife, raising their small daughter and working mundane, normal jobs. It gave them freedom to go places others could not, and hear things not spoken of in the presence of palace personnel. It also meant they were deliberately kept far away from the palace, in order to keep their covers in place.

"Gareth," Thorin said casually. "What brings you here?"

The larger man stopped and gave a formal bow. "Purely business, your Highness." He rose and nodded at them both. "Please excuse my rudeness, but I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a time crunch."

Thorin gave a nod of dismissal and the man was gone, moving down the stairs with a silent tread that wouldn't have seemed possible in a man of his size. Kyra imagined Thorin would be inquiring later to find out why the man had been there. Gareth in the palace, and on business no less, couldn't mean anything good.

They continued and soon found themselves before the king's office. The guards standing on either side of the door announced them and they were quickly shown in. The room beyond was enormous, easily several times the size of Kyra's entire suite of rooms. Bookcases, running from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, lined two walls while the one behind the desk held large glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking an inner courtyard.

Thrain was seated behind an oak desk that was probably bigger than her bed. It was immaculate, everything perfectly in its place. A mat was on the center, embossed with the royal seal, and holding a laptop that currently had the lid closed. The king was sitting perfectly still, hands folded on the desk and gaze blank.

Kyra felt an uneasy feeling settle in her stomach.

"Father," Thorin said, voice flat. "We've come as summoned."

"I expected better of you," Thrain said flatly, cutting right to the point and completely ignoring any and all pleasantries. "Both of you." His eyes bored into hers, and Kyra mentally shriveled under his gaze. "You in particular," Thrain said, focusing on his son, "are aware of how important honor is to our people, not to mention the rest of the world. We are far too new, and unproven, to risk scandal."

"I am aware of that," Thorin said stiffly, "and I take offense to the notion that I've done anything to bring dishonor to the Durin family name." His voice had gone cold, and he was so formal he may as well have been speaking to a stranger.

"Really?" Thrain asked, voice mocking. "Then the rumors I hear of you and Kyra openly carrying on an affair are false? And you have not had a woman who is not your wife in your quarters on a nightly basis?"

When he said _a woman_ , he looked directly at Kyra as if she were an outsider and she felt herself flush in both embarrassment and hurt. Thrain had been like a father to her after hers had died, and seeing him looking at her with such a cold gaze was cutting.

"I cannot help what people with nothing better to do choose to say or believe," Thorin said, anger coloring his tone. "I can assure you that Kyra's visits to my room--"

"Her visits to your _room_?" Thrain exploded, pushing up to a standing position and bracing his hands on the desk. "Durin's beard, boy, do you hear yourself? You are the _Crown Prince_ of Erebor, not some commoner skulking in a back alley! You are to be _above_ reproach, not lowering yourself to the base common denominator and blaming others for believing that you are doing exactly what you _appear_ to be doing!"

A flush of shame and outright mortification rushed through Kyra. She'd understood on some level that being in Thorin's rooms, especially when she had to go through his bedroom to get to the main suite, was wildly inappropriate. She'd convinced herself that they were just friends, however, and not doing anything wrong and....

The memory of the night before passed through her mind, when Thorin, not paying attention, had instinctively leaned over at one point to kiss her like he'd done a million times in the past only for both of them to freeze and pull away at the last second.

Oh, Aule, she thought, face heating. A mix of humiliation and anger flowed through her like liquid fire. Humiliation because she prided herself on her integrity and now people actually believed she was not only having an affair, but wasn't even bothering to be discreet.  

And anger because she shouldn't _have_ to be discreet about anything, or feel shame or embarrassment because the entire world had been turned on its damned head and she shouldn't have to deal with anyone accusing her of having an affair with her _own fiancé_.

Thorin and Thrain were now openly yelling at one another, voices rising with every passing second. They were completely oblivious to her, as they always were when fighting.

Kyra could feel the bridge of her nose beginning to burn and her vision was going blurry so she carefully released Thorin's arm and stepped back, behind him. She then turned and quietly walked out, shutting the door behind her and deliberately ignoring both guards. As soon as she had, she wrapped her arms around herself and hurried quickly down the hall, eyes fixed on her feet.

Voices, and footsteps, caught her attention and she made a strangled sound of frustration. Could _nothing_ go her way? She ducked quickly behind a large potted plant standing against the wall and held still as Dwalin and Nori strode past, conversing quietly. The guards said something to them, to which Nori gave a dry sounding response. Dwalin then opened the door, and the sound of angry voices came from within. Neither man seemed the least bit concerned as they both entered and quietly shut the door behind them.

As soon as they were gone, Kyra stepped out, nodding a quiet thanks at the soldiers who'd seen her duck behind the armor. She made her way quickly back to her office, quietly wiping at her eyes when she thought she wouldn't be caught, and avoiding the gaze of anyone she passed.

She nearly screamed in frustration when she walked in her door to see Dardren had returned and was standing near her desk.

"My Lady?" he asked in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be alone."

Dardren hesitated. "If you need someone to talk too--"

"I said I'd like to be alone!" Kyra said sharply. "Please leave."

Dardren nodded stiffly and obeyed, closing the door behind him. Guilt assailed her at how rude she'd been but she was in no frame of mind to go apologize. Instead she slumped in her chair behind her desk, propped her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands.

She shut her eyes and focused on taking deep breaths. She'd never been much of a crier and certainly wasn't going to start now. A few traitorous tears slipped out but she stubbornly wiped them away and clenched her teeth until the desire to break down entirely subsided.

When she was sure she was relatively in control, she forced herself to straighten and pulled her laptop closer, planning to answer a few emails. As her eyes scanned the list she noticed several were from her stepsiblings and her stepmother. They'd been reaching out since news of the alliance had come out, offering their condolences and sympathy.

Kyra neither needed nor wanted any pity, and _certainly_ not from them. The pain in her temples reasserted itself, adding to the dry, scratchy feeling she now had in her eyes. Thrain's words ran through her mind again and she felt her face heat. She'd worked so _hard_ on ensuring her reputation was sterling. She was an ambassador, the face of Erebor to neighboring kingdoms. To think _anyone_ would believe she was having an affair, and that she was being so openly _blatant_ about it, as if she assumed the fact she had the nation's sympathy would cover any negative impact...

Even if that were true, and she could have done it with impunity, she wouldn't have. She wouldn't have because she'd never escape the anger or resentment that she knew would build in her at the thought that she was being seen as Thorin's mistress when she should have been seen as his _wife_.

She groaned and ran her hands through hair, flinching in pain as her fingers caught on knots and pulled several strands painfully.

Why couldn't the _Shire_ princess go have an affair? If she truly was just another pawn of the Thain she could use it to get sent home, which was probably what she wanted anyway. Her reputation wouldn't suffer as, according to the intelligence reports, she didn't have much of one to begin with. Meanwhile, Kyra could reinstate her engagement while keeping Erebor's honor completely intact. The only wrinkle would be in ensuring the alliance was unaffected but, given it'd be Shire who technically had violated the terms...

Kyra went completely still as the idea turned over and over in her head.

It...actually wasn't a bad idea.

Granted, it wasn't _perfect_. Thorin would still be unable to remarry because Durin I was a bastard and gave no allowances for infidelity but, _still_. It was only in _Erebor_ that that law held true. She and Thorin could marry in any of the other kingdoms. Given the way the populace was reacting to her and Thorin's forced separation she doubted anyone would begrudge the two of them marrying outside the kingdom.

There was also the fact she couldn't exactly go to the Shire princess and tell her about her plan. The other woman seemed like the sort who might refuse purely out of spite, or because she simply didn't trust Thorin's ex-fiancé.

Kyra couldn't exactly blame her for that one. If there positions were reversed she'd probably feel the same way.

Kyra chewed on her lower lip, and leaned forward to pull up a list of Erebor's nobility, and their families. She'd always made a point of keeping up on current affairs with all of them, never knowing when she might run into someone at a party and need to make conversation. Any number of them had young, eligible sons, some of whom had tried to flirt with her in the past. If she could figure some way to get the Shire princess out of her room and arrange for her to run into an agreeable young man...

Guilt flashed through her at the thought of saddling any of the nobility with a girl who was apparently the black sheep of a disreputable family, but she knew many wouldn't care in light of her rank and status.

A few pictures came up and she rejected several of them immediately. She didn't want the other woman _hurt_ and, as with any of the upper classes, some were noble in bloodline only.  

She continued to chew on her lip as she ran the particulars of the idea over in her mind. It was still in its infancy and would need the kinks worked out... but it could work.

For the first time in a long time a thread of hope began to burn faintly within her and a small smile danced across her face.

It _could_ work.

She could get her fairy tale, and her prince, back.

It could work.

It _could_.

 

It had to.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

"You are acting like a child!" Thrain roared, face red with rage.

He was leaning forward over his desk, hands braced on its surface and Thorin unconsciously mirrored both his position, and his anger, on the other side.

"I am acting," he growled, voice low and dangerous, "like a man who had his life destroyed, on a whim."

His father rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it," he ordered, sinking back into his seat. "You want to hear about having your life ruined? Talk to your grandfather, or the rest of Erebor's citizens who were present for her fall."

Thorin decided not to point out that he'd been one of those present for Erebor's fall. He'd been young, but he'd been there. The smell of smoke was still enough to take him right back, to screams echoing through corridors, the roar of wargs running down victims, the sharp, metallic scent of blood.

A brief tinge of shame flashed through him at the memory, but he stubbornly hung onto his anger. It was justified. He had a right to be angry. He'd been through enough as a child, had spent his younger years fighting to retake the kingdom while his peers had attended school and found their place in life. His place had been ordained the second he'd been born, and again after the mountain had fallen. He deserved _one_ thing, one _damn_ thing in return.

He'd given enough.

"Believe me," he growled, "if grandfather were still here I'd have plenty to say to him."

As he spoke, he crossed his arms over his chest, and straightened his back. It caused him to loom over his father as he sat on the far side of the desk but, somehow, the other man didn't lose so much of an ounce of authority. It was abundantly clear who was in charge, and it certainly wasn't Thorin.

Irritating.

"I can see I indulged you too much as a child," Thrain said coldly. "You're acting like a spoiled brat denied a toy."

A muscle jumped in Thorin's jaw as he ground his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn't snap. "If by 'toy' you mean the love of my life, then fine," he ground out through gritted teeth.

Thrain actually rolled his eyes. "You can't lose someone you insist on spending every second with."

"You know what I mean," Thorin broke in. "I love her--"

"Apparently not enough to guard her reputation," Thrain leaned back in his chair, wood creaking under his weight, and curled his hands over the armrests.

Thorin ground his teeth, barely resisting the urge to launch into a tirade of all he'd been through as a child and adult. He wouldn't be saying anything his father didn't already know and it'd just prolong the argument. He was aware that Dwalin and Nori had come in at some point, and were casually watching the fight. They had long since lost their fear of Thrain, or Thorin for that matter. They knew their own worth, and so did the royal family. They weren't going to be fired unless they did something truly egregious, and they were far too loyal for that. Both had distinguished themselves in the fight to reclaim Erebor, and their love for the kingdom was unquestioned. 

Thorin had no doubt his father was deliberately humiliating him It was annoying, and irritatingly effective. Thorin knew he came out looking the worst in the argument, in spite of how he personally believed about the matter, and was forced to curb his tongue in a way his father wasn't. If he persisted, it'd just give his father room to throw out more barbs and embarrass him further. He clenched his fists at his side, and glared at his father who merely raised a mocking eyebrow in return.

After a few moments of tense silence, Dwalin took the cue and stepped forward, holding up a file folder. He was like Kyra in that way, trusting in paper more than electronic files. Paper files couldn't be hacked by someone on the other side of the planet, as he liked to point out.

"Latest report on the girl," he said casually, handing the folder over to Thrain.

Thorin frowned. "Girl? What are you talking about?"

Thrain gave him a melodramatic look of surprise. "What? Are you finally interested in acting like a prince again? Or is it just because your sparring partner is here and you've nothing better to do with your time?"

Thorin managed not to respond, somehow, but it was a close thing. Instead he deliberately grabbed a chair, dragged it out, and dropped into it with a heavy thud.

Dwalin and Nori both ignored him because, while they might not be afraid of Thorin, it didn't mean they were stupid enough to deliberately bait him. Better to let his father handle that.

Dwalin handed the folder over. He then started talking, giving his report, and Thorin found his eyes slowly widening as the other man detailed what his unwanted wife had apparently been up too. He'd assumed the girl had been sulking in her room, expecting the rest of them to come and beg her to come out.

Apparently not.

"She's sneaking around the palace?" he said blankly. "Why?"

"Trust you to focus on that and not the fact she found a way _out_ of the bloody palace," Dwalin muttered.

"Far as we can tell," Nori said calmly. "She goes back and forth to the kitchen."

"And when she left entirely?" Thrain asked. "She simply went to the movies?"

"It's possible she knew we were there," Dwalin said. "And abandoned her real plans."

"Or," Nori cut in, looking oddly cheerful, "it's possible she just wanted to go see a movie."

"Then why not just leave through the front?" Thorin asked in confusion.

"Maybe she watches the news," Thrain growled, "and didn't want a crowd of protestors surrounding her."

"You can't blame the people for being angry," Thorin muttered. He certainly was angry after all.

"No," Thrain agreed, "but I can blame you for doing nothing to mitigate it."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "What do you expect me to do?" There was little the palace could do without seeming to be censoring the media.

"You're married to her whether you like it or not," Thrain said shortly. "You could have accepted some of the interview requests, gone with her and made it clear you supported her."

A loophole, Thorin thought. His father was deeply upset over the way the media had been attacking the Shire princess, as well as how whipped up the public had become by the constant attacks. He felt it portrayed Erebor in a very poor light, and he wasn't wrong. They'd been focused on showing themselves to be honorable and above reproach, worthy of alliances with other kingdoms. They may have had sympathy over the Thain's actions, but it was quickly cooling in the face of unending criticisms and attacks aimed toward the girl.

Privately, Thorin was confused by it. The media, and public, generally had rather short attention spans and he'd have expected them to have moved on long before now. They might still hold a general dislike or disgust when they saw the Shire girl, might be borderline rude or cold and may pose unfair questions but, for the most part, would move onto whatever the latest scandal happened to be unfolding. The fact they were clinging so stringently to this, and with such a steady anger, was...odd to say the least.

"I'm not sure I'd be able to hold my composure," he said, flatly. Unlike the rest of Erebor, it _was_ personal to him, and his anger had held steady because it reignited every time he saw Kyra.

"And that's why I say you're still a child," Thrain retorted shortly. He turned toward Nori.

"Find out what's going on. If she was meeting someone, I want to know who, and why."

"You think she's a spy?" Thorin asked in surprise. A spark of... something, ignited inside him and he straightened in the chair. "That would explain the Thain's insistence on the marriage. He was trying to get her inside the palace."

"Be a bit on the nose," Nori said dryly from where he was standing near Thorin's right shoulder, arms crossed. "Particularly with our history."

Thrain gave Thorin a look that was part knowing and part disappointed. "All the more reason to get to know her, wouldn't you think? You can find out for yourself."

"Unless her intention is assassination," Thorin countered.

Thrain heaved a sigh and settled back in his seat. "If the girl were going to kill you in your sleep she'd have done it already."

"That'd be embarrassing," Dwalin rumbled from just behind Thorin. "You're at least twice her size."

Thorin ignored the slight. Instead, deciding he'd put up with enough abuse for the day, he pushed to his feet with a non-committal, "I'll consider it," toward his father. He gave a general nod toward the other three men and turned toward the door.

He'd just reached it when his father spoke up behind him. "You could have renounced your title you know."

One hand resting on the doorknob, Thorin half turned with a frown. "What?"

His father leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the armrests and clasping his hands together. Dwalin and Nori bracketed the desk, also half turned to look back at him.

"Renounced your title," Thrain said, voice calm. "Maybe, when you decide to stop being such a stubborn ass, you might ask yourself - why didn't you?"

Thorin's hand tightened on the doorknob until it threatened to snap off. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"More likely you don't have one," Thrain responded. With that he gestured toward Dwalin and Nori, who both immediately turned to face him again.

The dismissal couldn't have been clearer and, with a growl of anger, Thorin stalked out, intent on tracking down Kyra and ensuring she was all right. His father's words ran through his mind again and he rejected them with annoyance, pushing them to a deep place inside his mind.

The sense of disquiet that the words caused to settle over him was far harder to dispatch.

***

"What were you thinking? You could have been murdered!"

Bilba rolled her eyes and settled back into the mass of pillows gathered behind her. She was curled up on her bed with her laptop on her lap, talking to Rosie back in the Shire.

"I wasn't going to get murdered going to the movies," she said. "It was fine."

Rosie did not look convinced. "And what if no one had been there to help you with the creep at the theater? What if he'd been waiting for you when you left? What then?"

Bilba hid a flinch. Perhaps she should have held back a few details about her trip out of the palace. She hadn't mentioned exactly how she'd gotten out, on the off chance someone, somehow was listening in. "I was fine," she repeated. "I just wanted to get out for a while."

"At night," Rosie said flatly, "in a large city when the only experience you've ever had has been in small towns that could probably fit inside Erebor’s palace."

"I was fine," Bilba defended. "I was thinking of going again, but earlier so I could check out the university and dance studio."

Rosie's eyes narrowed. "How are you going to apply for school?"

"I'll get a job," Bilba said immediately, thinking of the bakery Bofur's brother worked at. Surely he'd have a job for her once she told him who she was. Assuming he wasn't on freaking Kyra's side like everyone else seemed to be, but she was willing to bet he wasn't. "I can probably get loans as well."

"And what name will you put on them?" Rosie asked. She was lying on her stomach on her bed, arms wrapped around a pillow bunched under her face. The laptop was in front of her and the angle made it so Bilba saw mostly pillow and then a slice of Rosie's head over the top of it. "You're sneaking out of the palace. Even if you give them your real name, they won't believe you."

And they'd probably reject her on principle even if they did, Bilba thought in irritation. "I don't know yet," she said. "I've got plenty of time to think of something."

Rosie frowned at her for a second, and then sighed and buried her face in the pillow. "All right," she said, voice muffed. She lifted her head again and frowned at him. "You wanna watch a movie?"

"Sure," Bilba said, accepting the peace offering for what it was.

Rosie headed off to find one, while Bilba took the opportunity to go to the bathroom so she wouldn't have to, hopefully, during the movie.

As she walked back out into the main part of her bedroom, she jumped at the loud slam of a door from out in the main living area of the suite. A few minutes later she heard rattling and banging from the kitchen area, not like someone actually destroying anything, but like someone in a foul mood taking it out on the dishes.

Bilba went back and clambered on her bed, settling in. Rosie came back a few minutes later, brandishing the movie in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. "You don't have any snacks?"

"Not sure I should," Bilba said with hesitation. She had scrounged up a few bags of popcorn the last time she'd been to the kitchens and snuck out to the kitchen part of the suite to pop it for movies when she was sure Thorin wasn't around. "Sounds like Thorin's out there, and in a bit of a bad mood."

Rosie scoffed. "See, now that's just crossing the line. All the other garbage is bad enough, but now they're denying you popcorn for the movie? It's too far, I say, just too far."

Bilba giggled. "I guess I could go down to the kitchen real quick." She chewed on her lip absently as she spoke. She usually waited until late in the evening to make her trips, and it was far from that, but it was late enough that most people should be where they were supposed to be for the day, right?

Aside from Thorin, she amended, as she heard another loud bang that sounded suspiciously like the microwave door. A few seconds later she heard a second slam that sounded like his door closing. Most likely he'd made something to eat and planned to fume privately.

"You should," Rosie said sagely. "If you don't, I'll feel too bad to eat any myself and that won't do." She gave Bilba a pointed look. "Half of movie watching is the snacks. If we don't have snacks, it's a guarantee we'll have 50% less fun."

Bilba laughed outright. "Fine. I'll call you back soon."

Shaking her head, she ended the call and then headed toward the door. Putting one hand on the doorknob, she pressed the side of her head against it, listening. There was no sound from outside and, given how angry Thorin had sounded, she doubted he could manage to stay quiet out there.

Taking a deep breath, and screwing up her courage, she opened the door and peeked out, breath exhaling in relief at the sight of the empty room. Before she could talk herself out of it, or Thorin could come back out, she hurried out and to the door leading into the hall. She left her bedroom door, and the main door, both open a tiny crack to allow her to dart back quicker if needed, and started down the hall toward the kitchen.

Her trip proved uneventful, for which she was grateful. Her skills at moving about undetected had improved and the few times she did hear voices she was able to hide behind plants or decorative statues. Mentally, she acknowledged she was behaving ridiculously, but it was better safe than sorry, or locked in a tower somewhere.

The kitchens weren't empty, never were during the day, but they were so busy and filled with smoke from the ovens that no one took much notice of her. She had her hair up in a tight bun and was wearing some of her old clothes from home, so it was possible those who did see her simply assumed she was someone's assistant. It helped that she strode in as if she owned the place. Bofur had always told her that one could get away with a lot simply by behaving as if they belonged there, and knew what they were doing. Apparently, he was right.

Finally, bowl of popcorn in hand and swell of triumph in her heart, Bilba started back toward her room.

As she reached her floor, her heart jolted, and she felt a quick surge of panic at the sound of voices coming from just down the hall. She froze, only to relax minutely a second later at the realization the voices she was hearing were coming from children.

"Don't be pathetic," she chided herself under her breath. "You can walk past a couple of children."

She put her head up and tried to affect a posture of authority, even as her body began to shake with nerves. If these kids were up here they were probably related to the royal family in some way, and very likely could have had their feelings toward her affected by whatever it was they'd heard their parent's saying. She didn't much fancy being insulted by kids, not to mention they could report to their parents that they'd seen her and...

Bilba shook her head, tsking at herself as she did. She was being paranoid. They were kids. All she had to do was walk past them.

"Okay." She tightened her grip on her popcorn bowl, tossed her hair back, and strode forward.

The kids didn't give her so much as a second glance.

There were two of them, a small dark-haired child who looked to be about six or so and an older, fair haired boy of about nine or ten, who was following him with an exasperated look.

The younger one was on his hands and knees, peering under a bench set against the wall. "Shelly?" He frowned, and then crawled forward to look under another bench. He had a tangle of leather leads in his hand that she assumed was some sort of strange leash or harness. "Shelly!"

The other boy sighed. "Don't crawl, Kili. You'll ruin your clothes."

Kili ignored him, clambering to his feet to go and look behind a statue. "Shelly! Where are you?"

As Bilba passed, keeping her eyes ahead, the small boy suddenly whirled and asked, "Have you seen Shelly?"

Bilba gasped in surprise, and froze for a moment, eyes going wide before she blurted, "No."

Kili sighed, shoulders slumping. "Okay."

He turned away, and Bilba felt a stab of guilt run through her. "Sorry."

"It's fine," the other boy said. "Shelly gets away all the time. We'll find her."

"Oh," Bilba stammered. "Okay."

She started to ask them to describe Shelly, but the two boys had already moved on, still looking under every bench and behind every plant and statue.

Bilba shrugged after a second and continued on her way. The door to the suite was still cracked open and she peered in, ensuring it was still empty, before heading in and going toward her own room.

By the time she reached it, she was feeling quite accomplished, right up until the moment she pushed open her door and came face to face with the a spider of the size of a large dog crouching dead center in the middle of her bed like some sort of obscene decorative pillow.


	15. Chapter 15

Bilba stared at the spider for several long minutes. Then, she carefully set her bowl of popcorn on a nearby table, turned on her heel, and calmly and quietly walked back out of the suite.

It only took a few minutes to find the children again. The smaller one, Kili as she recalled, was on his hands and knees looking behind a potted plant while the older child leaned against the opposite wall, watching him.

Bilba approached the older one, who looked up at her inquisitively.

"Shelly wouldn't happen to be a spider, would she?" she asked, impressed at her ability to keep her voice casual and level.

She thought she spoke quietly but apparently wasn't quiet enough as the dark-haired boy jerked out from behind the plant with an excited, "You found her?"

"Maybe," Bilba said slowly. Kili had been looking behind a plant that was far too small for the spider in her room to have hidden behind. "Either that or there's a second giant spider lurking about."

"Could be," the blond replied, pushing to a standing position. "Rock spiders are pretty common around here."

"I didn't need to know that," Bilba said simply. "Maybe I should get someone else, in case it's not her?"

That was a lie. She wasn't going to get anyone else. She'd just...start sleeping on the balcony or something, or the beach. Probably the beach, the balcony would be much too close to the spider.

"It's probably her." The older boy turned to Kili. "Come on."

Kili instantly fell in line alongside the older boy, the strange jumble of leashes, or whatever they were, still clutched in his hands. "You won't tell Amad, will you?" he asked, gazing up at her expectantly. "I'm not supposed to let Shelly out unless Fili is watching me, but he was too busy watching cartoons."

At this, he gave the older boy a dirty look, but Fili simply rolled his eyes in response. "Don't look at me like that. I told you five minutes, it's your own fault for being impatient."

Bilba frowned at them. "Wait, you two are brothers?"

The two swiveled to look at her with twin expressions of confusion. "Yeah," Fili said. "Why?"

"No reason," Bilba said, equally confused. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "All right, you can come see if it's your spider, I guess."

For a few seconds they all simply stared at one another awkwardly before she finally turned on her heel and headed back to her rooms. Fili and Kili walked alongside her happily and she wondered at the fact that they were so quick to trust.

Rosie complained about her going out into the city but that was because she didn't realize Bilba had only ever been in danger when she was inside a palace. The city, even a large one, was a playground in comparison.

They reached the suite and she went to grab the doorknob only to freeze as Kili piped up with, "Isn't this Uncle Thorin's room?"

Uncle Thorin?

 _Uncle_ Thorin?

Bilba's stomach clenched and a cold sweat broke out on her skin. She'd been hoping, really, _really_ hoping these kids weren't related to the royal family but, instead, were maybe some random nobility or distant relation. She knew Thorin's sister had kids but hadn't really paid much mind to it, far more concerned with the bigger issues currently facing her.

Why, oh _why_ , did they have to be his freaking _nephews_?

"This is Thorin's living room," she corrected inanely. "He lives on one side and I live on the other."

Fili tilted his head, studying her. "Are you the lady from the Shire?"

"That's me," Bilba whispered. Her hand tightened on the doorknob until her knuckles creaked and a wave of lightheadedness raced through her. Kids, she knew full well, could be so terribly cruel and, as pathetic as it sounded, she really didn't want to hear what awful things they had to say to her, courtesy of whatever it was their parents must be saying.

"Watir says you have horns and eat children," Kili said simply. "Do you?"

"What?" Bilba said in surprise. _That_ hadn't been on the list of things she'd expected to hear. "Of course not!"

"See?" Fili scoffed. "I told you so. Watir just a big, fat liar."

Kili frowned, looking quite put out. "Stupid Watir."

Bilba waited, but neither appeared as if they had anything else to say. That was...odd. Given how the press was portraying her, she'd half expected _them_ to be the ones to insist she had horns, and then promptly run off screaming down the hall.

Wouldn't that look fantastic to their parents?

She could see it now.

Amad, the crazy Shire princess tried to eat us.

She'd be _lucky_ if all she got was locked in a tower then.

With a barely concealed sigh, she pushed the door open, hoping to get the boys in and out again as fast as possible. If she were lucky, which she very rarely was, the entire incident would be so short it wouldn't warrant more than a blip on their memories of the day and they wouldn't mention it to their parents.

Kili chatted happily about nothing as they walked across the main room and Bilba couldn't help but shoot a nervous glance over her shoulder toward Thorin's room. Hopefully, he'd left at some point or, at the least, was so caught up in his bad mood that he would fail to notice, or care, about a small child chattering in the next room.

They arrived at her door and she instinctively put a hand on Fili's shoulder, stopping him from marching right in. She cringed immediately, expecting him to react poorly to a stranger touching him but, to her surprise, he obediently stopped and allowed her to push the door open.

"Shelly!" Kili immediately shrieked and rushed inside before she could even think about trying to stop him. He managed to knock against the desk near the door as he did and the popcorn bowl, already precariously perched on the edge thanks to her inattention when she'd first seen the spider, proceeded to tilt over and fall. The bowl hit the floor with a loud clunk and proceeded to spray popcorn everywhere, before spinning _loudly_ to a stop.

Bilba barely registered it as she watched Kili leap onto the bed beside a spider twice his size, if not more.

"It's fine," Fili said, giving her a sidelong look, arms crossed as he followed his brother inside. "She doesn't have fangs and her stinger has been removed."

"Not comforting," Bilba whispered. She crossed her own arms, from nerves rather than the self-confidence Fili was exhibiting, and chewed on her lower lip as Fili joined Kili in corralling the large creature. It seemed placid enough, merely skittering about on her bed as they worked to do whatever it was they were doing with the leash things Kili had.

Without warning, the spider launched itself off the bed, landing on the floor at its foot with a loud thunk. This brought it _much_ too close to her for comfort and Bilba instantly jerked back a step, to put distance between her and it.

She started to take another step, only to come to a dead stop as her back slammed into something unyielding behind her. She frowned and turned, wondering what she'd hit. There wasn't a wall behind ---

Her body froze, and her brain went on full tilt as she found herself looking up, and _up_ at Thorin bloody Durin.

Her arms, still crossed, went rigid and her fingers dug into her biceps until pain lanced through her nerves. Her heart squeezed so tight she was sure she was having a heart attack, and a rush of cold ran through her as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over her head. Her breath locked in her lungs, and her eyes went so wide she was slightly worried they might actually pop out of their sockets.

 

 _This_ was the guy her grandfather had married her too??

 

_THIS was the guy?????_

Sure, she thought hysterically, she'd seen him briefly at the wedding, but she'd been a bit preoccupied with nearly passing out and hadn't exactly been paying attention. She barely remembered seeing him on the stairs later and, for the interviews, he'd been seated away from her for most of it and she'd been doing her best to ignore him entirely. Her clearest memory from then was of his hulking bodyguard sitting against the wall. She hadn't particularly noticed Thorin at all.

 

That had clearly been a mistake.

 

She'd seen a few pictures, so she knew what he looked like, and she'd heard him with Kyra enough to know he had a baritone but clearly, _clearly,_ she should have paid a little more attention so as to be prepared for _literally running into him one day_.

He was built like a freaking _mountain_. Like, he was legitimately _huge_. Facing him as she was now, her nose came to right about his breastbone, and his shoulders were broad enough she was fairly certain two of her could stand behind him and not be noticed.

And none of that even took into account the fact that he was freaking, drop-dead _gorgeous._ She'd assumed it was all just _editing_ and a really good stylist _._ He was a Crown Prince after all, how hard would it be to fix him up for broadcasts and photoshop him in photos to look his best?

Not hard at all, as it turned out, because they _didn't._

It was just him, and, wow, that did absolutely nothing positive for her self-esteem.

_"Ugh, Bilba, your voice is so obnoxious. I don't know how you stand listening to it all day."_

_"Poor child, inherited your father's looks, did you? Pity. Your mother was so pretty."_

_"Stand up straight, girl. You're mousey enough without adding in bad posture."_

Bilba clenched her jaw and she turned away from Thorin, back tense.

Guys like him did not go for girls like her. They went for pretty, perfect girls with charisma and winning personalities. Perfect girls like...like...well, like Kyra.

Exactly like Kyra.

Dear, Yavanna, no wonder he and the rest of Erebor hated her. She'd literally upset the natural order of the universe.

"What's going on?" his voice rumbled behind her and she stiffened even further. He didn't sound particularly angry but, then, his nephews were present, and he could just be covering it for their sake. She uncrossed her arms and folded her hands together at her waist, using the move to surreptitiously dig one fingernail into the web of skin between the first and second finger on her other hand. The pain was sharp, and successfully drove back the burning sensation in the bridge of her nose. She'd learned the trick years ago, after her parents had died and she'd started having to endure constant berating by her grandfather and other family members.

Crying had only ever made it worse.

"Shelly got out," Kili said from inside the room. He'd gotten the straps in his hands around the spider in some configuration she couldn't figure out, and was now attempting to pull himself onto the creature's back. "It was Fili's fault."

Fili gave him an outraged look. "It was not."

He was in the process of helping Kili up and whatever else he might have said was cut off with a grunt as Kili accidentally kicked him in the face.

Once Kili was on, he gathered up some of the straps and, with a start, Bilba realized the spider was now wearing a harness and a variant of a bridle, reins going off it to be clutched in Kili's hands.

Fili clambered up behind him, putting his arms around the smaller boy to hold onto him and then, with a slight movement, they urged the spider toward the door. Bilba moved to the side, managing to avoid Thorin and the spider. It came waddling out, boys happily perched on its back, and Bilba made a mental note to burn her bedding, and possibly the bed itself, after it had left.

"Your mother will be discussing this with you later," Thorin said as they went past. "You know the rules. You only get to keep Shelly if she's controlled. We don't need her terrorizing the staff."

Kili's shoulders slumped and he heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Yes, Uncle."

They headed out the door into the hall, Fili pulling it closed behind him, and then it was just her and Thorin, alone.

Just what she never wanted.

A heavy silence fell over the suite. Bilba stayed where she was, pressed against the wall with her arms once again crossed and her eyes focused on her feet. Thorin stood a few feet away, from her angle all she could see were his legs. If she were lucky, he'd just leave, and they could both go on ignoring one another as they'd been doing.

Thorin took a deep breath, and her heart sunk. Figures she wouldn't be that lucky.

"I assume you'll be cleaning that up," he said shortly, indicating the popcorn, before turning and heading back toward his room.

Bilba blinked, once, and then again.

Don't do it, she mentally told herself.

Don't.

"Of course," her lips said, almost as if on their own, "we wouldn't want it to be dirty when your mistress comes around, would we?"

Thorin stopped in his tracks, and Bilba wished desperately she could sink right through the floor and disappear. This, _this_ was what always got her in trouble. Her tantrum after the marriage, running off without a plan to try and join Bofur, thinking she'd outwitted her grandfather with the dowry.

Her refusal to just _stay down_ and it never worked out well for her, not even once. All it got her was a ride in the limo or a stay in the tower, or the hatred of an entire kingdom and royal family. It _never_ worked out well for her and yet, for some inane, stupid reason, she couldn't seem to help herself.

"What was that?" Thorin asked. He turned to face her once again and Bilba felt a jolt of fear race through her, partially dousing the anger his initial comment had caused. His voice was lower than it had been, and Bilba felt a red flag start waving frantically at the back of her mind.

This flag, and the jolt of fear unfortunately, were not enough to dampen the rising wave of anger enough to get her to shut her mouth.

It never was, and therein lay her biggest fault. It was just so _unfair_.

She couldn't stand it.  

"You heard me the first time," she said shortly.

Something in his eyes flashed and he advanced a few steps. Bilba slid along the wall until she'd reached her doorway and stood in it, facing him.

"Kyra is my fiancée," he said, voice nearly a growl.

Bilba rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself a concussion. A cornered animal, Bofur had once said. The more her back was against a proverbial wall the harder she lashed out, no matter how bad, or outright stupid, such an action might be. "Oh, is that what they call it over here? I'm sorry, your 'fiancée'." She used air quotes as she said it. She hated it when people used air quotes and, judging by the light flashing in Thorin's eyes, so did he.

"She wouldn't be in this situation at all if it weren't for your grandfather," Thorin bit out. His hands, at his sides, were clenched in fists and there was a vein visibly throbbing by his left temple.

It was not an attractive look, or a particularly frightening one. He was nowhere near the level of pure rage her grandfather, or some of his people, could reach.

"At least my grandfather was only with one woman at a time," Bilba spit back. "I guess Erebor really is just that different of a place. In Shire, you can have a fiancée or a wife, not both."

"You have no right to judge me," Thorin practically bellowed, voice rising. "What I have given up--"

Something inside Bilba snapped, and that was never a good thing. It was that very thing that had sent her of rampaging through the palace and look where that had gotten her?

"What?" she shouted back at him. "What have you given up? Your kingdom?" she made a show of looking around dramatically. "Nope, still here. Your friends? Your family?" That last one was actually a plus for her, but she was so angry she wasn't going to skimp on the accusations she threw at him. "Tell me, Asshole? What have you given up? You can't even look me in the eye and tell me you've given up your fiancée! You have literally given up _nothing_!" She took a step forward of her own, a small one to be sure, but still it was there, and raised a finger to point at him. "So, don't you think you're going to stand there and talk to _me_ about loss, when you haven't given up one, single, goddamn _thing_!"

It came all came out in a rush, and it wasn't all necessarily aimed at him. The rage in her voice, enough to bring a flush to her face and tears of pure anger to her eyes, went much, much deeper than the last month. It was just the tip of a very old, deeply buried, rage hidden under layers upon layers of fear and despair. The fact Thorin had somehow managed to get under her fear and piss her off the way he had, was impressive.

It was also terrifying.

As with every other time in her life when she'd lost control Bilba had about five seconds of satisfaction and relief, before reality came crashing back in like a bucket of ice cold water dumped on her head.

In this case, reality being that she'd just screamed at _Thorin Durin_ and, if she were _lucky_ , the only thing she'd get would be the tower.

She'd argued with her grandfather before. Debated, pleaded, outright begged, bargained and even defied him a few times.

She'd only screamed at him once.

 

_Once._

Thorin had gone silent while she'd ranted, and now was staring at her with a look she couldn't begin to read. His hands were still clenched at his sides and his body was straight, but the vein was no longer throbbing in his forehead.

She wasn't sure if that were a good thing or a bad thing. One of her aunts had the habit of going silent when angry, and the quieter she got the more trouble you were in.

Suddenly, Thorin took a step forward. In an instant, her mind erased him, and it was suddenly her grandfather striding toward her, face twisted in rage and hand raised to backhand her back into submission.

Bilba let out a strangled sound and leapt into her room, slamming the door behind her. She barely managed to fumble the lock closed before the knob started to turn, and the door began to rattle.

He said something, her grandfather or Thorin or whoever it was on the other side of the door, but she couldn't hear what it was over the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears.

Yavanna, if there was one thing worse than being openly defiant, it was not standing and facing her punishment afterward.

He was going to _kill_ her.

She fell to her knees at her bedside, flinching at the sharp pain as her kneecaps impacted the floor with a heavy thud. She reached under the frame and dragged out the baggy, oversized jeans, shirt, hat and sunglasses she'd stashed the night before, scrambled to her feet so fast she nearly fell, and ran out the balcony doors.

Her breath was harsh in her own ears as she took the rocky steps to the beach two at a time. Once there she changed under an outcropping, fingers shaking so bad it was all she could do to get the shirt buttoned and her hair braided and hidden under the hat.

The second it was done she was running again, straight to the passageway hidden in the rocks.

She didn't remember Rosie was waiting for her to call back until she was nearly halfway up the beach on the other side.

 

She didn't stop running until long after that.

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Thorin leaned back in his chair, leather and wood protesting as he forced it to the limits of its factory specs. Most furniture wasn't made for people his size. He'd had companies offer to build him a custom one, but he'd refused. His family had never been one to accept special treatment, and he wouldn't be the first to break the tradition.

He propped one foot on his opposite knee and braced his elbow on the armrest, absently squeezing a stress ball as he stared out the window. He had a drawer filled with the things, and the cleaning crew was forever complaining about their vacuums clogging on the nearly invisible gel bits that invariably ended up littering the floor after he broke one.

His office was on the side of the palace that faced the ocean, as were most of the offices and royal suites. Probably not the best decision, security wise, but when presented with such a view it was difficult to expect anyone to agree to take a room that didn't showcase it.

And it was a stunning view, one he probably didn't appreciate near often enough. There was a storm brewing now, a far-off bank of dark clouds boiling on the horizon. Beneath it, though too far off to see, he could imagine the water churning, biting winds driving massive waves while thunder rolled, and lightning cracked overhead in a miasma of violence and turmoil.

Before it all, the sky was a brilliant blue with a bright sun, calm water and seagulls lazily drifting on gentle currents, completely blind to the tempest slowly advancing upon them.

The symbolism was a bit too on the nose and, with a grumble of annoyance, he twisted around in his chair to face his desk. The stack of paperwork he needed to get to taunted him, as did his complete and utter lack of desire to actually do any of it.

The argument with his father ran through his head and he scowled. He had a _right_ to be angry, damnit. His entire life had been turned upside down. His and Kyra's both. He'd --

_"You haven't given up one single, goddamn thing!"_

His hand clenched viciously on the stress ball. She was _wrong._ Kyra might still be in his life, but she'd been lost to him all the same. He could never kiss her again, or hold her, and the future they'd once dreamed of together, the family...was gone, lost like so much smoke in the wind.

He didn't realize how tightly he'd been gripping the stress ball and, without warning, it unceremoniously popped, tiny gel pods cascading across his desk and down onto his lap and the floor.

He cursed, pushing back and standing up to brush off his pants and desk top. He shoved his chair in, hard enough to make his entire desk rattle, and started to head toward the door, intending to head down to one of the sparring rooms. Maybe he'd see if Dwalin was free, or even if Gareth was still around and able to spare a few moments.

His hand closed around the doorknob --

_"Are you finally interested in acting like a prince again? Or is it just because your sparring partner is here and you've nothing better to do with your time?"_

He froze.

Fantastic. The last thing he wanted to do was prove his father right. He forced himself to turn around and face the desk again, and the paperwork waiting for him. He started to take a step forward, only to stop again as the memory of the fight with his father reminded him that Kyra had been there and he'd planned to go see her to make sure she was all right. He'd just been distracted trying to calm himself down first and then by --

_"I guess Erebor really is just that different of a place. In Shire, you can have a fiancée or a wife, not both."_

A flush of anger washed over him, but it was heavily tinged with an equal burst of shame.

 

She wasn't wrong.

 

He'd seen the looks from the staff, and heard more than one of the rumors. Some of the smaller news outlets had even done roundtables on whether the Crown Prince of Erebor was not just cheating on his wife, but openly flaunting it.

He'd ignored it, because he knew the truth, and it wasn't as if anyone should care...but that wasn't exactly a rational decision now that he thought about it, was it? A stubborn one to be sure, a purposefully obtuse one...but nowhere near the best one. He knew people believed what they wanted, and he'd certainly given them enough to fuel their imaginations.

The shame intensified, breaking through the thick wall of anger that had been hanging over him for what felt like forever. Erebor prided itself on her honor. It was the shield they put forth to inspire and hold the loyalty of their people, and to try and garner the loyalty of other kingdoms.

He'd let Erebor down.

He'd let her down but, worse than that, he'd let _Kyra_ down. Having her in his quarters was simply idiotic. He'd damaged not just her reputation in the palace, but potentially amongst other kingdoms as well. She was an ambassador for Mahal's sake. Her reputation, and honor, was of vital importance if she wanted other governments to trust her word and listen to her when she was sent to negotiate with them. A rumor that she was openly carrying on an extramarital affair, no matter the circumstances, could destroy her career, something she'd worked a lifetime to build.

He'd told himself his anger was mostly for her and the pain she'd suffered, and then he'd gone and not given her any thought at all when it came to protecting her reputation.

 _"You are acting like a child!"_ his father's voice roared in his head, and he grimaced.

 _Damn_ it all.

He ran a hand back through his hair, residual anger draining away as his attitude over the past few months presented itself to him in sharp relief. He _did_ have a right to be angry, but he didn't have a right to act like a prat about it, and he certainly didn't have the right to drag Kyra down into the mire with him.  

His mind went to his small nephews, and he shook his head in irritation. What was he thinking? Vili had gone missing when Fili was barely young enough to remember him, and Kili hadn't even been born. His father was too busy to spend much time with them, and Frerin was more of a big brother than an uncle.

That left him to fulfill the role of a father figure, and he didn't have the right to screw it up the way he'd been doing. What did they think of the way he'd been acting?

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Thinking of them brought the Shire Princess to mind, specifically the expression in her eyes right before she'd run into her room.

Fear.

It was not what he'd expected. Anger, certainly; possibly disdain or haughtiness. Any of those, and a thousand more, but fear?

He'd given her no reason to fear him.

Not to mention that, in spite of the fear, she'd still come at him. He could admit the comment about the popcorn had been out of line. He'd been angry, and had lashed out when he shouldn't have. It had been petty, and beneath him. Her reaction, though, combined with her expression...it was a contradiction, and not at all what he would have predicted.

He'd have expected her to react like the snob the press painted her as, and that she appeared to be from what he'd seen of her, in person and on the news.

She hadn't.

He might buy her lashing out if she were the spy Nori worried she might be. Playing a role to try and keep suspicion off or...something...

Maybe.

Nothing explained the fear.

Thorin would freely admit he wasn't perfect, but he was not a man that had ever caused a woman to look at him with fear in her eyes.

She had, and he didn't like it.

He'd tried to talk to her after, but she'd refused to open the door, and he couldn't say he blamed her. Even if he believed all the media reports, even had she been as haughty and spoiled as he'd expected, it still wouldn't have been an excuse for his own actions.

He shouldn't have had Kyra in his rooms, and he shouldn't have mouthed off to the Shire girl like some sort of petulant teenager. He thought back to the first real memory he had of her at the wedding, where she'd been little more than a shrouded statue.

It had been the news that she was rampaging through the palace, throwing what was apparently the tantrum to end all tantrums. His second memory had been of her marching up the stairs after reportedly heading out to party.

He'd used her bad behavior, and his own anger, to justify behaving poorly himself, and what did that say about him?

 

Nothing good.

 

He sighed. Honestly, he should have spoken to her before then, or at least made the effort. She'd refused every invitation to meals, and had rejected her schedule, so it was unlikely he'd have gotten a favorable response but at least he'd have been able to say he tried.

Coming to a decision, Thorin strode to the door and headed out into the hall. He didn't bother going back to his quarters. He doubted the girl would answer her door if he knocked again but, fortunately, he didn't need to go to the source to get answers to his questions.

One of the perks of royalty.

He had a spymaster.

 

***

 

"No."

Thorin blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

On the other side of the desk, Nori raised an eyebrow. "Does such an answer really need clarification, your Highness?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and, for not the first time or probably the last, he resisted the urge to throttle the other man.

Nori, for his part, seemed entirely nonplussed. He was leaning back in his chair, elbows propped on the armrests and fingers steepled in a way that made him look like he was plotting something.

He probably was.

"Do you have a file on her?" Thorin tried again, hoping to prick the man's pride just a bit. It was manipulative, but if it got him what he wanted....

It didn't.

Nori's eyebrow went high enough that Thorin was fairly certain it defied a law of physics somewhere, not to mention it was simply insulting, and looked amused. "I don't make a habit of handing out private information I've gathered on members of the royal family."

Thorin frowned, and almost asked what he was talking about before remembering that, yes, technically the girl actually was a member of the royal family now. "You didn't mind mentioning she's sneaking about and might be a spy."

"Matter of national security," Nori came back without hesitation.

"She's my wife," Thorin tried.

The look Nori gave him was so pointed that even Thorin had to concede the attempt was pitiful. "With all due respect, your Highness, I don't think it's quite fair to acknowledge her only when it suits your fancy."

Thorin felt his proverbial hackles rise, but simply gritted his teeth and ignored it. His father kept people like Nori and Dwalin around for a reason. Able to speak their mind without fear of reprisal, it ensured the royal family stayed humble. In addition, they served as a course correction when necessary, able to use their sharp tongues to get through to bullheaded, wayward royals when even their own family members might be too nervous to speak.

Thorin didn't like what Nori was saying, but that didn't mean he didn't have a point.

"Fine," he growled through a clenched jaw. "What would you suggest I do then?"

Nori shrugged. "You could try talking to her."

"I thought you wanted me to stay away from her," Thorin challenged wryly, "on account of her potentially being a spy."

"You've been warned," Nori said simply. "I'm sure you can handle yourself."

Thorn's eyes narrowed. "It is just me or is this a rather abrupt tonal shift?"

"Is it?" Nori pushed to his feet and idly walked over to his bookcase, stuffed full of tomes, half of which boasted titles Thorin couldn't even pronounce, and he knew all ten languages of Middle Earth. Next to the bookcases were tall file cabinets stuffed full with his notes and private files, because apparently everyone in Erebor was paranoid and didn't trust electronics.

For the important things anyway. Most of them had Ravenhill accounts on the advice of Balin who felt it would make them seem more approachable and known to their subjects. Frerin was the only one who insisted on running his own account, flooding it with photos and videos and posts. He had a near obscene number of followers, many of them dreaming of winning themselves a prince.

Nori gave him an amused look and opened one of the file cabinets, reaching in almost without looking and withdrawing a file folder.

"Tell you what, your Highness," he said, waving the folder in one hand. "I'll let you have her file on one condition."

Thorin raised an eyebrow, suspiciously. "What is it?"

Nori grinned brilliantly. "Tell me her name."

Thorin blinked, and then frowned. "Don't be an idiot, Nori. I know her damn name."

"Great." Nori leaned back against the bookcase next to the file cabinet and crossed his arms, absently tapping the folder against his side. "It shouldn't be a problem for you then."

Thorin gave him a disgusted look. He opened his mouth to answer, only to freeze as his mind flatly refused to produce the girl's name. He shifted in his chair, irritated. For Mahal's sake, they'd just been discussing her in his father's office not more than an hour ago. Surely, her name must have been mentioned then.

Nori was still watching him, and Thorin felt a flush of embarrassment that quickly morphed into annoyance. "Why should it even matter?" he growled, defensive. "You expect me to know the name of every person in the palace?"

Nori studied him, a knowing look in his eyes. "Still not quite there yet, are you?" he murmured, cryptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thorin demanded.

Nori merely gave him another knowing look before turning to replace the file, slamming the drawer hard enough to give it what he probably thought was an appropriately dramatic feel.

A light knock sounded on the door, and Nori got the excited look he always did when he was about to interrogate someone.

Thorin frowned at him in confusion, and got up to open the door. On the other side, he was startled to see the palace's head housekeeper and head butler.

"Your Highness!" Dardren explained in surprise, and immediately attempted to bow, his wife next to him.

"No," Thorin said immediately, putting his hands out. "Please, don't.

Both Dardren and his wife were much too old to be able to comfortably bow or courtesy any longer, and were generally allowed to get away with simply inclining their heads. Clearly the surprise of seeing him had startled them enough to send them back into old habits.

As they struggled to comply, Thorin looked over his shoulder to glare at Nori, who shrugged and looked entirely unrepentant. "Come in, you two," he said cheerfully.

Hadra gave Thorin a nervous look before quietly shuffling past him into the office.

"Nori," Thorin warned through gritted teeth.

Nori rolled his eyes and came over to usher him out the door. "Relax," he muttered under his breath. "I'm not a monster." He managed to get Thorin into the hallway, and put one hand on the door frame and the other on the door. "On the other hand," he added, "if you don't want to end up in my office, I suggest not pissing me off."

He gave Thorin a bright, slightly edged grin, and shut the door firmly, leaving Thorin in the hallway.

Thorin hesitated, but then shook his head and turned to head down the hall. He either trusted Nori or he didn't. Nori had never been known to target someone maliciously, so if he wanted to talk to the couple there was a reason for it. It might seem unlikely but, then again, so had the thought of them being driven into exile by Smaug. They needed someone to look for the unexpected, and that someone had always been Nori.

Pulling his mind away from it, Thorin tried to focus on the rest of his day. It was approaching lunch but, aware he hadn't gotten any work done yet, he decided to have it sent to his office.

He made it back to his office, and stood in the doorway with a frown. The room was relatively large, paneled in dark wood, mahogany and leather. Kyra had designed it and, while it was beautiful and gave an impression of strength and maturity to visitors, it could also be a bit on the dark side and somewhat claustrophobic.

He hesitated, an idea slowly taking shape as he studied the stack of paperwork on his desk. His mind went back to that locked door, and Nori's insistence that he talk to the Shire girl. The fact Nori had managed to catch him out on now knowing her name was obnoxious, and not something he planned to allow to happen again.

She was currently locked in her room, but there was only one way for her to get from there into the rest of the palace, and that was through the suite.

She'd have to come out eventually, right? After all, everyone had to eat.

Decision made, he grabbed the phone receiver from its cradle where it sat on the corner of his desk and called down to reroute his lunch to his rooms.

He gathered up the huge stack of paperwork and started to head in that direction, only for his footsteps to slow as he saw Kyra heading toward him from her own office.

"Kyra," he said, as she reached him. "Are you all right? I know my father was a bit intense."

She laughed. "No worries, I've dealt with far worse than him. I just figured it was best to get out of the way until things cooled down."

"Fair enough," he agreed.

"Are you ready for lunch?" Kyra asked, clasping her hands in front of her. "I was kind of waiting for you to come get me, but I got a little impatient."

"Oh, right." Fantastic. Thorin mentally kicked himself. Having lunch with her was part of his daily routine for Mahal's sake. He got thrown off his game just a little and it threw his entire day off? Pathetic.

He opened his mouth to tell her he'd already sent for a meal, and that he could have it rerouted to his office again, only to pause as he saw a maid walking by. The young woman, who he didn't recognize, gave them both a knowing look before putting her head down and hurrying past.

Damn it.

"I'm actually planning to have a working lunch in my rooms today," he said, nodding to the stack of paper in his arms.

"Oh," Kyra said. "That's fine. I can grab my own work and join you."

Thorin hesitated. "Maybe another time. You know how easily I get distracted. I'm already behind what with my father and then everything with the boys and the Shire Princess."

Kyra looked startled. "Bilba? When were you talking to her? And the boys? You mean Fili and Kili?"

Bilba, Thorin thought, pleased. That was her name. He knew that.

A few other servants walked by, and Thorin scowled. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to be having in the middle of the hallway. "It was just a misunderstanding. I was hoping she'd come out at some point, so I could clear it up."

"That's why you want to eat in your suite?" Kyra asked, crossing her arms. "Because you want to talk to her?"

"I should at some point," Thorin said, trying to force a grin. "She lives here now. It might be nice if we could at least be civil to one another."

And if he could find out who in the name of Mahal she even was. So far, to believe everything he'd seen and read, she was a spoiled spy who trekked into the middle of downtown alone at night and stood toe to toe with him, only then immediately run away in fear seconds later.

She was a paradox in about five different ways, and he very much wanted to know why.

"Oh." Kyra had a strange tone in her voice, not one he'd really heard from her before, and he frowned in concern.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Of course." Her eyes flickered to a passing security guard and her lips thinned in annoyance. "You know what? It's fine. I just remembered something I wanted to get done. I'll probably just do a working lunch too." She smiled up at him. "So, I'll see you this evening then?"

"For dinner." Thorin agreed. He knew he needed to say more, make it clear that there would be no more meetings in his room, for her sake more than his own, but it was a conversation that could so easily be misinterpreted and result in hurt feelings, and it just simply wasn't something to be discussed in the middle of the bloody hall.

Something in Kyra's eyes cooled, and Thorin had a suddenly feeling she'd picked up on what he was saying, and he'd managed to muck it up without even trying. "Kyra--"

"It's fine." She stepped back. "I really need to get going, calls to make and all. I'll talk to you this evening, at dinner."

She was gone before he could say anything else, leaving him standing in the hall with his paperwork in his arms. He cursed under his breath and almost, almost went after her, only to realize how bad it would look to be chasing after another woman who just so happened to be the same one he'd been inviting into his quarters every evening.

He sighed. It had been so much easier before all this mess with the Thain.

Deciding he'd talk to her later as she'd asked, he resumed his trek to his rooms. By the time he'd arrived, the stewards had already come and gone, setting up a full spread on the dining room table near the back of the rooms. It stood on a raised platform that was backed by the balcony doors and a wall of glass, giving a spectacular view out over the ocean.

Thorin settled his work down, anchoring it with a book he snatched from his room, and then threw open the balcony doors to let the outside air in. The storm on the horizon was closer, but not yet near enough to dramatically alter the temperature so he figured he had some time before he'd have to close the doors.

He adored watching storms from the safety of his rooms, and this one looked like it would be an intense one once it finally came onshore.

A burst of excitement filled him at the thought and he sat down to work and eat with a renewed gusto.

On the far side of the room, the door to Bilba's room remained firmly closed but he didn't let it bother him. She'd have to come out eventually and then, perhaps, he'd finally get his answers.

Until then, however, he was going to get his work done and enjoy watching the storm come in.

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Walking Tall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290184) by [akahime4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akahime4/pseuds/akahime4)




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